Hanging
The day scorched his back
black eyes,
blinded by light
he walks to the shade
of the tree he planted
with his father
some forty years ago
he — the farmer
his father — the farmer
with bent backs
both lived to see
a day like this
standing under the shade
of this lone tree
standing there with them
marking the boundary of their field
onlooking their fate
destroyed year after year
and then destruction was
all that was left
when the tree
lent a hand
to help them end this cycle
of land parched
crops destroyed
life loaned to
sharks in ties
mild face, sucking
drying out his soul
repeated three years in a row
curdling his dreams
which were the color of gold
but now his crops turned to
the color of dust
him, his father
clinging to a hope
their lives became the collateral
hanging from a rope
the blinding light
shifts and turns
into the color of blood
and then dies out
they said it rained
for millions of years
when there was
nothing on earth but
fire and fumes
it rained so much
that it filled the oceans.
<8/8/2016>
In India, ~3000 farmers committed suicide in 2015, increasing 40% since 2014.
