The period of curfew imposed
is the historic occasion.
The mirant workers
from far flung states in India
were forced to do more work
for less pay, enslaved, cheated
and exploited and the dawn came
in the form of Covid-19
to shut the industries and let them free.
When they were left in the streets
with "No work, no pay" rule to face,
they ventured back on foot
to walk their way back home.
The corporates colluded with the rulers
to stop all modes of transportation
and the agitated labour folks
were beaten to retreat and stayed back
without food, water and shelter.
The corporates worry for the shortage
of workers once the lockdown lifted.
The workers are in a hurry
to go back and breathe last
if Corona strikes, in their native land.
Their odysseys by foot to cover
the distance more than a thousand miles
are worthy subjects for the great epics.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem