Value of our nation

 Value of our nation 




Fields of gold, the potatoes grow,

Hands that toil, sweat to show.

From dawn to dusk, labor is true,

Yet little comes for the work they do.


Chopped and fried, in oil they gleam,

On plates they shine, a costly dream.

Coins fly fast, the price is high,

While farmer’s hope barely gets by.


We pay for taste, for crispy delight,

Yet human worth fades out of sight.

Commodities rise, the markets glow,

But farmers’ hands earn almost nothing—still, the fries cost so.


GR kaviyoor 

17 09 2025 

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