Anathema Of Informal Sectors... We Are Human With No Human Touch! ! ! Poem by Sadashivan Nair

It was morning sunshine day,
Chilled winter teasing breeze,
Bracing my soul and heart,
I was fresh doing my yoga in the park,
During gossip with my friend,
He said go to church, go to temple,
You not only find a God,
But also raise energy frees from ill health,
I got enticed by these words,
Persuaded me visiting church,
So shall have peace of mind...
On one day, I was on way visiting church,
I met an aged begging in street,
He was in pathetic dirty stinking state,
Dress was ragged as old as his age,
Ignoring him I moved forward,
But heard his whispering lyrical voice,
"Even dirt sometimes gives teachings of good,
Like Lotus rises from muddy pond".
I halted when heard imaginary words,
He looked at me smiled a bit and continued,
"Dirt is force consumed by mother earth,
Fertilise its womb feeds us through plants and trees".
A long breath and then said,
"Even fragranced Rose rots when it's stale and old,
Yet is rose, never hate old, old is gold.
Hating old is hating future".
Raised his hand asking alms,
"It's not that I love to beg,
Don't beg I can't live,
Beg for food and medication I need";
Instilled my emotions and warmed my heart,
Gave him alms enough for week;
The rhyme strings drove my mind,
Inquisitiveness rose to know more about him,
His history and his past, what was he?
Where is he from and why he begs?
In my country aged are as respectful as God,
That further allured me; sat beside him for some time.
He said his name as ‘Ram'
A son of farmer studied up to high school,
Migrated from village to Indian town,
In his young and healthy age,
First he worked in a private firm,
Then began a small business,
Ailing wife's medication and surgery bills,
Failed his business and life,
Did not lose his young valour,
Plied cycle rickshaw all day and night,
Despite struggle and hard work,
He could only manage merely pull on life;
In his mid age worked in factory,
Anathema of informal sectors,
Drove him out of job,
Had no more work as severely ill;
Drops of tears wetted his eyes,
In gloomy voice said
"Is not the story of mine alone"?
"This curse lingers on to all",
"Who work in informal sectors"?
"Have no pension, not even medical aid",
"Old age is brutal in countries like India
And similar in Asia and Africa",
"We are human with no human touch",
It was shocking revelation,
Of inhumanity with humans,
Emotional suffrage world gives to them!
For children aged are burden!
Even Governments don't want!
Where should they go?
Problem of all informal-sector workers,
No one likes to solve!
World wants to retain this issue intact,
So slogan for election campaign lasts long...
It may not be poem of your standard,
But an awareness for all to make a catchphrase,
Fight for rights of Informal Sector as human rights...

© Sadashivan Nair. All rights reserved,