Sunrise to sunset,
Days in and days out,
Under unforgiving burning sun,
Poor families… men, women and even young children…
Covered in dust and soot,
Coughing and heaving,
Breathing swirling acid smoke from burning coal.
Years struggling, just for slavery wages…
Making mountains of bricks,
That built factories and modern cities of India.
The look in their sad eyes…simply heart wrenching.
Is somebody out there listening?
Is this life...living?
Topic(s) of this poem: Life
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