Human Living

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!