With eyes that once bloomed in hope,
He wanders, weary, seeking paths—
A poor farmer, burdened by fate,
Still sowing seeds of toil and trust.
Though dreams lie distant, unreached,
He carries life forward, undeterred,
Raising the next generation
With sleepless care and silent strength,
He walks on, steadfast in spirit.
With no clear road, yet heart immersed,
He bonds with earth, his sacred kin.
Each grain of rice, a prayer of hope,
He plants with faith, day after day.
Dreams sprout deep beneath the ground,
Enduring heat with quiet resolve.
Eyes lifted to the sky above,
He scripts his fate with furrowed brow.
Like the lushness of his land,
His life breathes green in every breath.
A beacon in the morning light,
He labors under open skies.
Beyond the gates of muddy fields,
He feeds the world with humble hands.
With reverence for the soil he tills,
He worships earth as living god.
Through cycles of time and divine grace,
He sows belief in barren ground.
A heart that holds the nation’s pulse,
He stands each day, unwavering.
To keep the planet verdant, whole,
He works with sacred discipline.
A saint who silences hunger’s cry,
He lives as India’s beating soul.
He bears the sun’s relentless blaze,
And roots his dreams in open fields.
Like tender shoots, his hopes arise,
He nurtures life with warrior’s will.
He waits for rain with folded hands,
A sparrow praying to the clouds.
He speaks the language of the land,
A noble man of soil and grace.
At the summit of human toil,
He feeds the world with silent love.
A fountain of pure empathy,
He stands as life’s sustaining force.
The word “farmer” echoes pride,
A glory that transcends the skies.
The root of all humanity—
He holds the world and helps it thrive.
— Sakthi Sakthithasan
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