Behind every show

Behind every show

 

Since infancy, my heart has borne

as being a child who is rural- born

the amusements on the cultivation

by the laborers under the hot sun

on the lands not a jot of their own,

as a student during the graduation

in an industrial township, modern

over their lives that miscreants govern,

the pomp show of Mayday celebration

and on their upliftment, flowery oration

and then my fifty years’ direct association

four decades on their supervising function

in industries both at project and operation,

at abroad, with laborers, direct interaction

the mental haunts since my superannuation

on this poor class and their utter exploitation

anguish me, accuse me and ache my heart

Vow I to pray nonstop for this class till I depart

for my atonement and to aid human wisdom

to alleviate these poor class rotting in the slum.

Now with gratitude of life at them I bow

as for our survival to them much we owe.

 

In their unorganized sector

on exploitation, they suffer.

At their cost the proprietors prosper

but endures this class without a whisper

lest they may lose their dole to exist

as their labors are valued the least

even at the back of each and every show

stand they indispensably with profile low.

In so-called organized sectors

suck their blood the leaders

Bear they in silence, their atrocity

as at their whims stands their unity.

In either of the cases, they suffer.

“Sucker turns every sympathizer,”

 

Though the sweats of labor

for male or female do not differ

but the reimbursements differ

thanks to the masculine power

as male labor can work harder

though for discipline and patience

certain jobs ladies get preference.

But the class difference continue

as usual motherhood never gets its due.

But after the day-long hard labor

to the family needs, women carter

nurturing the children to household chore

when menfolk booze in groups and lunatically roar,

succumb to unscrupulous money lenders.

Because of their misdeeds, woman folk suffers.

Toil they day in and day out without respite

bearing miseries, woes, and husband’s bite.

Here the simple arithmetic does not apply

earnings of both couples do not multiply.

Middle man and the goons at liquor stall

add to it underpayment, them, cruelly maul.

Live they in slums, made and bred as hooligans

to honest life their offsprings miss guiding beacons.

 

 

with its spell ruinous

when the corona virus

take toll of lives in million

run others for protection

lockdown is forced upon

driving labour folk to starvation.

Walk they thousand kilometers

home ward to their own villagers

not being afraid of diseases to suffer

but to mitigate their hunger and shelter

Die they as they do in the slum

daily unaccounted by human wisdom.

They prove that they labor only to exist

Thus the rush, horrendous does exhibit.

Hey man civilized wise, seek your conscience

to give the labor class dignity, listen to its grievance.

 

With blurs on my eyes,

choing the throats my sighs

recollect I, their queue line

with some on their breasts, kids on twine

clad with rags dirty and torn

traveling to the plant at the morn

returning from the day-long labor

breastfeeding the child while self in hunger

the ladies folk frenzy me at this old age,

ridicule me on my efforts in this voyage.