To earn a human living
what man’s not doing –
some toil from dawn to dusk
some enjoy at others’ cost,
some know not what luxury is!
some know not what misery is!
I
see a peasant toils and toils and toils
ah! for the landlord
who shares three quarters of harvest,
he, the sharer of a quarter
glides towards poverty,
his children: half-fed half-clad.
I
see the brick workers
who work for the miller, and
smear themselves with mud and coal
amidst terrible heat of the chimneys,
ah! for a low wage;
their families left in Bihar or Odisha –
who knows
are they living or dead of hunger?
I
observe
an old skeleton passes by
stooping over a limping staff,
his eager hands
fumble with a coin of charity.
I see
a half-clad Riang woman
crawls on a hillock
with a heavy skuttle on her back —
bundles of bamboo blossoms peeled,
she carries on
for a few unaccommodating rupees.
I
see
a fisherman
rots in the river Barak –
his net patiently drawn each time
with a hope of a few big fishes!
until late afternoon
a few prawns and small hilsas
bring a dry smile on his wrinkled face.
I
observe
how a rickshaw-puller
inches towards premature death,
from morn to night
he pulls and pulls and pulls,
his young daughter needs to be married,
three school-going kids
and a suckling,
a large family indeed –
had he thought earlier to keep it small
he weeps now but in vain.
I
see
thousands of people around me –
neglected, downtrodden, underdogs!
but who’ll come?
for their uplifting –
to put a smile on their lips;
they too have a right to be here
to have a human living!
