The Woolen Rag Poem by Asit Kumar Sanyal

When I was a child
Rajastani wool-shearers
used to come at my village
for for four months
mid Nov to mid March
They used to sell
their home-made raw woolen rags
it was highly warm, low rate
And while going back
they would collect the lamb-wool
from the lamb raisers
of my village.
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In every spring it was a common scene
The lambs lying like dead
on roadside
under the shearer's knee
and a big seasor in action
to shear the wool.
These days the shearers don't come
No one raises lambs now
That profession is sick
That industry is sick
Those lamb raising families are sick
Lamb raisers are sick
and the vacuum is filled up
by soft rags
made in big industries
in India and abroad.