Friday, 20 December 2013

Cement , Bricks And Moulds Of Clay

Cement ,bricks and those moulds of clay ,
Before  sunrise starts my day.
Walking past the dingy single room ,
Loaded with stuff ,
 Struggle to find a broom .
Winding up my chores of daily life ,
I step ahead,
 Ignoring ,
Wrenching words and covetous eyes .
There she goes ,
The downtrodden ,the spoilt ,
 People squawk in hushed subdued voice .
Unheard screams escape corners of my anguished heart ,
But ,  the fragile flimsy faces of my kids ,
Strengthens my core ,
And I snub those bruised words.
Lurching vision ,
 Prowling expressions ,
Bump with me all day ,
Be it the contractor , carpenter or the water man ,
Follows  my moves even the owner of the land .
Debris scatter over  sunrise to sunset ,
Sprinkling around the rubble ,
Continues my fight with my fate .
It goes on for days , months , years , decades ,
Slowly my strength starts to shed .
I don’t want my girls to end up here ,
And never to face those yesteryears .
But , alas it’s the same story again ,
Blank platters , starved bellies,
 Drunken unruly husbands .
Life takes a full round turn ,
When I arrange new work sites for them ,
Unfolding the same life every single dawn.
Whatever people may say ,
Whatsoever they may feel ,
This life is real ,
For ages it whirls .
For me , for you , for them ,
For someone may be ,
Cements , bricks and those moulds of clay ,
Before  sunrise ,
Starts our day .

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