Child Labour Poem by Swapan Deep Singh

The big metal hammer goes up,
And soon comes down;
Only to make those big rocks smaller,
And there is a tiny, sweating hand;
Holding that slipping metal tool.
The hammer means nothing to ‘Devang”.
It is nothing but a heavy crushing tool,
Crushing stones and stoning fates of millions like him.
Yes he works at a construction site;
Where he builds houses for the rich,
Where he settles shelters for the privileged children of his age.

But he too has a house,
Not far.
Most of the times it has a roof,
And all of the times it has noise;
Noise of the engines shunting tracks,
Noise of the whistling trains,
Noise of his new born brother,
Clasped tightly patted by the mother;
In his one room home
Standing neighbour to the local train crossing.

Across lives “Sarla”.
Or does she live there?
She only comes home to sleep and goes to work before the sun wakes up;
Her circumstances none better,
Her dreams don’t matter;
What matters to me and you
Is the quality of the carpet she weaves.
What matters to me and you
Is only how fine is the fibre
Made out of her tender hands - bound in the shackles of poverty and helplessness.

Switch off the music for a moment;
Stop enjoying your life for a small second
And spare a thought from your pre-occupied mind.
Ask yourself -
What are you living for?
What are you earning for?
To get the happiness you cannot share!
To earn the luxuries you don’t need!
And the very purpose is forgotten.
Devang and Sarla are left alone;
To fight what they have got in legacy.

Spare a thought,
Lend a hand;
So they are not left out
In the journey they have been imposed upon.
Make a life better;
And I swear to God –
Your life will not become worse
But all the more full.

Swapan
2007