Early,
Quick,
Prepared,
And ready...
We match out of our shacks.
With hoes,
With matchets,
With pins and ropes,
With popular rags...
We adorn our cursed bodies.
When the sun is high,
When the dew is gone,
When the earth is hot,
And when are sweats are balloting...
We dish our efforts into hectares of tilled farmlands.
So, even when our gums are glued together,
And our throats strangle in times of thirst,
Even when our lips lobby in lots of heat,
Our spines shiver in styles of struggles,
We plant seeds that the nations will eat.
While our ponds are tired
Because their lives are disturbed by our fingerlings,
We comfort them by patting theirs sides with the tears in our eyes.
We encourage them with the wounds of our visionary hands,
Because the life of the nations depend on our continuity.
But, many have dragged further our torn dresses.
Others have bruised our patched skins.
And the remaining ones have trampled on our productive efforts.
Now we plead,
Do not waste the foods that feed our lives.