Strangers in own land
Way lost and starved
Goes a wandering crowd,
Walking unending miles
On their feet proud,
Deserted by all,
Their dream coming to end,
Proud still on God’s three gifts:
Head, heart, and hand,
Pile of dreams still on head,
Life wrapt as if in shroud,
Way lost and starved,
Goes a wandering crowd….
None fending for them
And no one to defend,
Poor them, getting stopped
At each border land.
On what until late
They were all so proud,
No more, lost in plight,
Their cries getting loud,
Trudging to way home
That looks like abroad,
Way lost, starved,
There goes a wandering crowd.
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Happenings |05.06.2020|
Topic: people, plight
Poet’s note: The plight of migrant labour, out of work, wages, and means to survive, and now eager to go home miles away in another State of the same country that now looks like a foreign land; stranger have they turned in their own land, and scared by Corona….. A revised and recast poem
Copyright © Aniruddha Pathak | Year Posted 2020
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