The Naked Truth

 

 Behind the mighty structures of brick and stone,
Are the naked hands of people who stand alone,
Fighting against all odds through the sun & rain,
Until the last drop of their energy drains.

 

A group of faceless people lacking urbanity,
Yet striving each day for their pride and vanity,
To build castles of dream for their family & kids,
So they don’t have to suffer, the way they themselves did.

 

With tanned, battered bodies and soiled sores,
They are forever ready to take on more,
Only to earn enough to make ends meet,
And manage a jhuggi on the narrow street.

 

No matter how often they drop to the ground,
With illness or by exhaustion downed,
The hope of a bright new day in their eyes,
Makes them rub off the dust and rise.

 

No matter if they have to stay miles apart,
From friends & families so dear to their heart,
The lamp of hope within them is always alive,
The grit of a labor isn’t dead till they die.

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