White, Green and Red

White balls as snow,

Soft is the word,

Bursts out in summer,

Its blooms from the black;

Nurtured by merry family,

In return brought green home

Precious as gold.

It was the same,

Until, the glut doomed.

Family was on journey of fret,

Not enough greens returned.

They soiled their hands,

They toiled the lands,

They curbed their mouths,

Burnt their midnight oil,

Prayed to the rain gods,

They begged for greens.

Feel of lacklustre lands sunk,

Waves of carcass on rise,

Farmer’s fields smell of blood,

Wind was fumes of funeral pyre,

Words of cry and misery lived.

Red lapel, how about a swap?

I am a deaf, who can hear.

Red lapel, pay a visit here?

I am blind, who can see.

Red lapel, help us?

I wish I could, I will not.

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