Smoke Of Violence Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

He works squeezing strength,
Sweating body, agonizing soul,
Moulds and re-moulds,
Shapes and reshapes,
The metals hard.

Loads on and unload cargoes
From the ships and trains,
Breaks into pieces,
Heads of the boulders,
With the force of shoulders,
Lays them straight to make the roads
Leading to destinations.

Contrives dams to block water,
Or turns tracks of the rivers,
Builds houses and hotels,
And sky-scrapers too.

He blackens his whole being,
While working at the kilns,
And subterranean tunnels of coal,
But sleeps on the path and pavements,
Or on the bed of bare ground.
His kids go through the lanes of life,
Unschooled and underfed,
With dry lips and starved bellies,
And always with a load of patience,
Curtailed dreams hover around them,
But always out of their reach.

They cry out to call out,
The hoarders of wealth,
Pioneers of the world,
To rescue them out,
From the self devised quagmire,
To compose the world a place worth-living,
Else it will remain smouldering,
Emitting out smoke of violence,
And the world will remain plague-ridden.