The Muttered Cry of Our Kids

Hear the muttered snivel of our kids Puked away to gloom, twinge and disease Wrecked by creeds To fulfill an antique mores Whose ruin is beyond scientific darn See the boulevards and the creeks Before sight are male Mal-nourished toddlers In rag togs, blistered feet, beseeching alms And ingesting the remnants From the poorest buffet They toil in tackle capacity Inversely allied to their weight From sun rise to sunset To earn much less than you See the boulevards How they stir; bunched On the trot to any kind of dub To good and to evil Death becomes a familiar friend At first light and at dark From toil, food, water and sleep Such a despicable way of live But then the espoused antique mores, woes Regenerated by ills of the society To the blanketed vision of the moneyed To plunge empathy and impious reliance of all Can this be our way of life? Trouncing fortunes to antique mores? Reticence to rascality? And nationhood to meanness?