As we climbed his shoulder,
We learn to see the height of the sky,
It’s his finger that strengthen our feet,
And we learnt the miracle being attached to the earth,
Its father; the farmer of life,
Secret watchman of our night to keep us alive!
Always in his eyes,
Dwell a dream of golden farm just like my mother see,
He is the co traveller of her,
As they promised to die together
Farmer and his farm in its holy bond,
There is the knot of love; pain bearer of each other,
He is my hero my father.
My mother’s eternal love!
Ploughing, digging and cleaning,
Preparing a fine land,
Tries not to leave any unwanted weed,
But a smooth texture,
Like a fine canvas where he will paint,
Colours of life for us,
Sowing seeds of love and protection
Yes he is the farmer,
To reap fruits of smiles and prosperity,
Lives for his wife; for his children,
for his family; for his only golden farm!
Fighting with all odd,
Despite danger and dangerous,
At times he is the angry wasp or giant fighter,
Never spare one try to invade his farm,
Waters the withered plant,
He brings in hopes and desires into our life,
The berries he sown indeed enlighten the goddess of home,
He is the dreamer of a golden farm.
He is a cultivator of courage in our mind,
Abandons all homely peace
He goes and works outside
From daily labour to high businessman,
Either educated or non;
He moves with great patience veiling his pain,
He smiles to give what he could obtain,
A traveller full of extreme enthuse
My father is the farmer of our golden farm!
Though, no clue to see the wetness of his eyes,
soak blood indeed in his time,
It’s him; my father!
never shows his scars but
Bears equally burden of life,
as my mother does.