The days are getting tougher
Yet there’s no peace in the rumble.
Roars I hear!
Tears like seas flowing without end.
The places are tattered.
Women place atop of their breasts,
In their feeble and rumble hands
Closely followed by hungry
Crying in and for their pain
The husband on the other hand,
Are victims of circumstances,
Amongst them are graduates,
Skilled workers, Honest personalities,
All rendered jobless
And they strive and watch
Their world Crumble
Before their eyes.
The so-called rich ones anyway,
Are separated off the poor ones,
Living their sophisticated lives
Demarcated by huge fences
Hell lies their eternity…
And smuggle their lots abroad for
Protection and to avoid suspicion
They mischievously fix their
Relation into offices
They are not qualified to occupy
Leaving the suitable one recoiled
In their shells of joblessness
Causing havoc for poor ones
Who rot back in their improvised
Shelters, cry and gnash their teeth
In abject poverty
Swearing for help out of a
Jungle which seems to be surrounded
With ferocious-looking wild animals.