All Are My Brothers And Sisters... Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

A mother in distress at our shores,
Keeping her pitiful haunted eyes,
On her broods, those are choked,
Speechless, but have the thumb prints,
To elect the same dramatists to the podium,
To deliver annual obituaries to our fate,
Year after year, our respect devalued,
Ironed white shirts worn opportunists,
Comfortable in the rooms with the fans,
Look at those cheap products,
Imported from the yellow river,
They have become prosperous,
The continents across the oceans,
Need the market driven economists,
They play the game of witchcraft,
Sucked blood filled into the bottles,
To turn away the good spirits,
From being invited into the horror houses,
The mother on our hill station is naked,
Her womb is growing the cancer cells,
Her sons are at work, good as the chemo therapists,
Most of her free time she dwells on the streets,
Where most of her children play with poverty,
Once in a while she retreats to the houses,
Where her prosperous children on time share,
This nation is going to be rich soon,
Everyone at the central always claim,
Previously we have the peace to converse,
They like to steal it and leave us in tears,
Our mother is in despair, clouded are her eyes,
Her children have the cheap dresses,
To salivate at the imported economic concepts,
No one has created this gap, it exists always,
Well informed youngsters are not fools,
They may salvage our hearts from being abused.