The Poor farmer plants in the rainy season as the dry season zooms,
And hopes to salvage the future for his household in their small room
Without any bitter taste from a lazy man's doom.
That's why he puts more effort to get better produce than last season's farm yield,
provides shelter for his family even when he had to sleep on the field,
to serve as a good husband to his wife, and a glorious dad to his kids by being a protective shield.
Not long to these days, father got bitten on the field by snake
Wife and kids wailed for months, and shed tears sufficient enough to replace a lake.
All to no avail,
for death had already unveiled.
Rain fell and over the season the crops had grown, including the ones with big pods.
The boychild drowned to the underworld,
But the girlchild swayed by flood to another world
The helpless Mother tired about life had good convictions about suicide,
but the firewall of her soul was so strong for such to evil to reside,
and the hope of finding her girlchild made her to redecide.
So she'd rather wail for a lifetime and die,
than give up to the ghost, hopes of her daughter's return.
Even when the same serpent that caused the husband's demise still lies, camouflaging on the green pasture to serve as another, a thorn.
But she cared more about the future of her daughter
A small-big family, wide apart, troubedly scattered
Her life, fading away
Still, no vision of a helper crossing her way
All she gets is promises from aids
But only to get her sorrow paid
She wondered if she was born to be sterile,
Even when from the outset of her life she was never infertile
Earth bleeds and there's no cure for a common wound,
Safety, joy, peace, hope and happiness all loosely-bound.
Mother pleads for the rescue of her fatherland
Fatherland bloodily battered down the sand,
Saviour please, we need your hand!
