This is a poem on the horrid, bonded labour system that still persists in the nation. A must read!
Sire, sire let me go,
I’m old, I cannot work no more.
I have a family and five young ones.
I’ve been here for years, spare me some months.
The sire was angered by the servant’s plea!
He said, “Before you leave, return all that you owe me!”
The servant had worked for years on end
For a loan his father had taken to spend.
He couldn’t say a word because he had no money
He was tired of all he saw- greed and gluttony
The Zamindar said cunningly, “Give me your son in turn
He will work much harder, the loan to return.”
The servant was helpless and cried at his fate
He picked up the sickle to go back to the estate
“I will not do to my son, what my father did to me.
He has a life of his own, let him live it happily.”
With tears in his eyes, he touched his body so timid
His hand shivered, he stopped for a minute.
His head spun around, the heat at its peak.
Fell dead on the ground-the story of the weak.
His family was shattered, poverty stricken
The very son he tried to protect was now the Zamindar’s victim.