Of Chisels And Hammers And Dreams, Life Of Migrants…

The migrant from the native, Caution thrown to winds, they risk dying to live, The bridges they built with their labour and sweat, Now stained with their tears and blood…

They washed his feet  and treated him like God
They obsessed over him to get into power
When the storm came they forgot
That their Gods are hungry and  desolate
Shut out of the tall gates
Left to face their dark fate
Trudging miles, empty hands and hollow eyes
Allegory of abandoned  dreams and hope
Poverty and helplessness no less violent to cope
The crisis churned the rich from the poor
The migrant  from  the native
Caution thrown to winds, they risk dying to live
The bridges they built with their labour and sweat
Now stained with their tears and blood,
No building too tall, no road too long
No distance too far can keep them bereft
Of their home and hearth
Once the wailing hearts find peace
The babies with full bellies go to sleep
What they earned and what they lost
Is hard math for them to sort
Their backs broke but spirits intact
It’s only a matter of time in fact,
When they will come back
With their chisels and hammers
And brushes and saws
To dream new dreams
And to heal old scars.

Picture credits – Pexels

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