Migraints Poem by Bobby yadav

And they kept walking
A mile, then another and then another

With mask covering their mouth which also covered their partial helpless face,
luggage filled with few clothes they could afford
and a half empty plastic water bottle
Some women carrying their infants and some dragging their children's who couldn't walk because of pain
Sun above them and the heated cement road beneath their agonized feet,
it weeps bitter tears coming through their un-comforted eyes traveling through their sun burnt cheeks,
mixing with the sweat before dripping to the ground,
evaporating into nothingness.
Leaving behind nothing and losing their identity.
Who are they?
What are they?
A sweat of a labor
A misfortune of a migrant
A life of an unfulfilled opportunity
A future unrecognized and avoided
Above all they are broken souls,
solders of misfortune
and none of ours to matter.

And they kept walking,
A mile, then another and then another.