1.

Once, we were farmers
Every morning, at the bark of a crow
Many a yawns gasped, and
Sung songs tilting the fertile soil,
No urea, no phosphate
A spade, a tilt and a pair of bullocks, and
Look today, a pair of goblets:
One in the hilltop, and another
Deep inside the psyche, and
All the sermons, shadows of occupation

My dear, I was destined to forget the servitude:
Farmers were long death!

Recently, my heart beats rather insane
My cold hands desperately seeks trigger happy guns, and
My eyes, somebody told: red, red!