Quietus Of Silence (Here Lieth The Unheard Voices Of Our Dead Farmers) Poem by Nanthinii Mohan

When you swayed in swings,
we trembled starving.
When you voiced for better living,
we dreamt for some means of existence.
The life you commend dared to pity us -
and we resent not your opulence.
We plough, tire and toil at last to ruin.
We dire in sludge and slush -and
Our nerve threadbare unravel voices
That only bleed, gush and shriek in silence.
Wordless is our voices, that heeds no ear;
Shattered are our dreams like broken sills.
And with all that is broken - remain
Those lost lives that naught shrill, but ever still.