THE FORGOTTEN ONES

By Colonel Dr Ramanan Duraiswami in Poetry
| 1 min read | 625 পড়ার জন্য | পছন্দ: 0| Report this story

Thousands of miles away from home,

They seek their El Dorado.

Alien, distant streets they roam.

No familiar place to go.

They live in wretched shantytowns,

A blue sheet over their heads.

No protection when the rain pours down,

Mother Earth their only beds.

Silently they toil all day,

To build strong edifices.

For their children's future they pray

Make many sacrifices.

When the calamity befell,

They were quite confounded.

Life became a constant Hell,

Poverty and fear compounded.

Shunned by those for whom they worked,

No food, no succor, no pay!

By society they were shirked,

Nowhere else to go or stay.

No trains to ferry them back home,

To the villages they belonged.

Abandoned, hopeless they'd become,

For their native land they longed.

As State Governments looked away,

They trudged many a weary mile

In the blazing heat of a summer's day

Only stopping to rest awhile.

Burdened with their worldly goods,

To reach their homes they tried

Walking on highways, and through woods;

On the way so many died.

Pregnant women, children small,

Hopelessness on their faces,

Struggled, trying not to fall;

Dragging feet, tired paces.

Pause awhile, my fellow men,

In the humdrum of your lives.

Spare a thought for these citizens,

Because of whom our Nation thrives.

They are not just "migrant labor",

To be left to a forlorn fate.

They're our less favored neighbors,

Their sacrifices are great.

Reach out to cheer up those you can,

Empathize with compassion.

They are true heroes, every man,

The bedrock of our Nation.

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