The Perseverance

He perspired hard to plough,

the winds weren't helping, the rains weren't coming,

but he persisted not to bow.

Trying to farm impossible in the red,

flexing, pushing in profuse sweat.

The Land bore shrubs and thorn,

as if saying to him – ‘please go away son, your efforts will not born’.

With limited means he worked expeditiously,

using the spade and his hands, he dug the red judiciously.

He buried the grain and aerated the red,

trying to gain the moisture.

Ploughing under the burning sun,

he wasn't afraid to manufacture.

Carrying his bread - he walked from far home,

punctual to fields at dawn, he ploughed till gloam.

Sitting under the boabab for rest and shelter,

his aim was to grow unimaginable from the loam.

Wrinkled face mother earth meant the drought was prevalent.

Hand on the forehead, he looked for hope.

Tired, helpless, worried for his family,

without bread and water in future, how would they cope?

He gradually became weak and ill,

his sight turned bleak, and future seemed still.

His steps were shaky, the skin turned dry,

he thought of the family and decided to try,

for he could not see the children suffer, nor let his cattle die.

Remembering wealthy days, he himself thought and tell,

"So what if I am not nabob, I will live well."

He plunged himself again in the barren,

buried the grain and aerated the red,

trying to gain the moisture.

Ploughing under the burning sun, gave his all in this adventure.

With lost hope he looked down the dried well,

returning from thirsty fields, he felt the moist smell.

stood around the red, stretching his hands far wide,

the Rain God listened, to the efforts he tried.

He sat under the boabab and watched the thirsty fields,

drinking and accepting gracefully, the Land realized he was a man of steel.

Speaking to the Rain, speaking to the Land - he thought and tell,

"so what if I am not nabob, I will live well."