The hands painted earthen, eyes dashed off with the tints of saffron .
The dreams they hold are not even a bit like the parched and cracked lands that swallow humans.
They resemble the kingdom of the rainbows, where the plums and purple mingle with the oranges and lemons.
Where the paddy husks fly with the wings of air and the peach balls of tangy tomatoes play with the greens and yellows
May no platter be a hollow, may no one in hunger cry, every harvest season, let's remember the peasants, who forbid their morsels to feed the land with their sweat, may no cropfield be dry.