The Sufferings of the Dumb
With the dust whirling round the wheel,
The walls of throat seeming to seal,
In the sun bleached roads of soil-
Ran the feet of the bulls faster with toil.
Their shoulders hath blackened in time's course,
The wooden bar to them like a saw's coarse,
The ribs out of hunger come out as though-
To satisfy themselves with the rays of the yellow bow.
I know not and nor does the owner;
Since when these poor chaps has turned to labourers,
And from whence time's sharp wheel acted sharper to their neck;
Let alone to miserable dreams which it did wreck.
They look at the soil unhindered by any sound -
The sufferings of the blunt labour is the only that's
through them is found.
Were we made humans by our maker -
For this day to turn from cruel to crueler-
To treat the dumb in a way as this-
By feeling of ours which we call to be the deepest feels?
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
