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 .