The Farmers Of India Poem by Hardik Vaidya

One rupee coin, old, pristine.
A culture forged and immortalised.
Heads the government, people self rule.
Tails the notation, crops and farmers, toils of truth.
Heads I win, tails you loose.
Farmers of india, half naked, full of hope,
Burning in the glorious sun, irrigating crops with their blood.
The fat lords owning acres now farm cash
Smoke hash
Sun baked, organic, farmer you measly potato,
Delicious we find you homely and mashed.
Freedom, yes, you are free,
Make your noose, go to the nearest tree,
Be free, go hang your self,
Be eaten alive or die your self.
Heads I win, tails you loose.