At Their Tasks

Everyone's seen the morning sun the light slants and the blood-splattered sky the full moon's sliced off to night's dark face on to the TV screen, Facebook or Whatsup seasons arrive and go, to return once more the summer heat takes off your shirt the hat tilts to shade in the rainy months, the umbrella's out to serve as a walking stick as well nothing new about it, to write about the mannequins at the shop window the phenomenon not in it's field of vision intricately woven with our lives and yet we don't give a damn about it at our work, play, courtship or party-hop working against it, at every step the paper to read and write on the houses we live in; and roads by undermining mountains for rocks ballast for the railway tracks automobiles burn the air shortage of oxygen to breathe impure air impair lives... Yes, I have seen them live in Sevagram a village in India followers of Mahatma Gandhi survive in an ashram in houses made of mud and wood just can hold a bed, table and chair no electricity but lanterns no tap water but from underground to live in sync with nature that's their motto and life's purpose