Saturday, December 18, 2010

Child Labor

A primeval termite
is gnawing at the soul of society.
That winged swarmer
has eaten up dreams and sentiments,
leaving the residue of some powdered dust of hope.
Its mound is far above and high
 on the chest of human race
and has grown just as deep and low
underneath, spreading roots.
Lost eyes scrutinizing the garbage can,
chapped lips that has forgot how to smile,
cracked, peeled off palms sorting out rags and
footfalls that only know the jab of rocks;
a life that is meant to have
pen, pencil and book
is now consumed slowly yet steadily
by the cruelty of toil.
The tentacles of hunger
have engulfed their rhymes and fairy tales;
those babies too have fallen from the sky,
yet, perhaps, the children of a lesser God!
The fancy tableau of the cityscape is now
filled with innocent blood;
blood that runs through the veins of
numerous anonymous unnamed faces;
 their bones and beings are
nibbled and chewed away into ashes
by that primal termite named
child labor;
now, the hollow husk of humanity
mocks at us!


The Unknowngnome said...

I think the honor of your poems is intact. Your words here will help the unseeing see.

Celestial Dreamz said...

TUG, m so glad. thank you.