Open Letter from a Barren Farm

Dear India,

In songs of beauty, of abundance, of prosperity, I was once the main hero. You used to sing about my lush green pastures as you watered the soil, where rice, maize and corn grew. Cattle grazed, I was full of life. A symbol of prosperity to animals, birds, crops and people.

Now, it's a different story. I am infertile. I'm no longer of use to you. The songs are all a thing of the past. I am abandoned and I'm lonely.

No one writes songs about those that they wronged. I am the field that you wronged by diverting water to the cities.

No one writes songs about those who they malnourished. I am the field that you used too much pesticide on.

No one writes songs about the ones that hold them back. I am the field that got in the way of your 'city dreams'.

No one writes songs about the one that they abuse. I am the field that was used to grow your cash crops.

You think I've forgotten how it used to be before, when fields were lush, green and fertile - that I've forgotten how I used to be? You think I want to be this infertile field, now that you are begging me to grow something… anything! You think I want to be the desolate piece of land of your funeral pyre? Remember you abandoned me. I waited and hoped.

Today you look at me with fallen eyes as the ones who toil upon me are about to take their own lives. You call out to the nation, to the masses, to the media. No one seems to care."No one is coming to save our crops, to rescue our lives, and our lands."

Only when we're down to the last crop in the country, down to the last surviving farmer, perhaps only then the country will finally wake up. Only when it's a little too late, will we all will decide to finally awake.

Yours barren and infertile,
The Farmland.

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