veeraiyah subbulakshmi

Reality hurts, in every soul of the men,
That belong to the Lords, reality really hurts,
When the qualified doctors work,
As the Hospital Assistants,
In the foreign land, reality hurts,
When the qualified professional painters,
Work as the white washers of the houses,
Reality painfully hurts. The state educated,
Graduate teachers toil as the maids,
The mathematically sharpened engineers,
Sweat as the laborers, reality hurts,
When over qualified is the barrier,
My sibling's educational status changes to lower,
To do the work to fill not the account, but wipe the tears,
When poverty burst from the breasts,
The hunger never diminish in the stomach,
The Lords are silent, taking care of a group,
Who assume that they are sin less and gifted,
As their three meals, robes and roof,
Are guaranteed for many generations,
Blinded with mist of injustice ignorance,
Reality hurts more than the poverty.