better than the rest.
All this wheat standing in front of me, behind me, through me,
Insignificant, dilapidated. Ruined.
Seasons have changed, summer returned, grasses green
To no avail.
The crops go dry and
The weeds come back.
Sporadic. Crazy, malady-causing.
The produce, like a manifestation of death,
Render us farmers lost. Derelict.
Loans. Starvation. Burdens. Children. Family. Mortgages. Anarchy.
Vivek Kotecha is currently a student pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science and a minor in Psychology at the College of Arts and Sciences at Boston University.