In an arid Bhorle village, Bhim Dai struggled with manure and seed,
To grow maize for his family to rear and feed.
He tilled the barren field with his hand,
Waiting for the rainwater to soak the land.
After prolonged labor, maize crops stood ready to harvest,
Haplessly, downpour and hail ravaged the maize, causing the whole family to starve.
Bire and Junge, his sons, stood by his side,
In fields of millet and maize, they took pride.
They tended to the cows, a herd of fifty, with toil and dust,
Sold the milk and procured fodder with utmost trust.
Ferried the cow dung to the field,
Two siblings strived to keep the earth tilled.
A misfortune struck Bhim Dai’s family hard with a lumpy skin’s attack,
The ailment claimed forty cows, inflicting their back.
While the cows breathed their last,
Banks made calls to repay the loan fast.
As the calamity struck the family,
They decided to seek the solution calmly.
With heavy hearts, a decision was made,
To foreign shores, Bire and Junge would parade.
Bire and Junge flew to Saudi Arabia with hopes of a better tomorrow,
To repay the debt and end the family’s sorrow.
Working at an oil refinery, reluctantly elated,
With modest salaries, they were ill-fated.
One day, a call left Bhim Dai heart-broken,
He lost consciousness, to the hospital bed he was taken.
Newspaper headlines read,
Bire and Junge died with injuries on their head.
They were commuting in Riyadh’s bustling street,
When a speeding car sent them to the death’s meet.
Two brothers’ hopes and dreams remained unrealized,
As the tragedy unleashed its cruelty on them, mobilized.
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