Nameless And Faceless Poem by Mantrana Mahi Agarwal

Amidst the honking vehicles,
Far below the majestic sky rises
And under the shade of trees,
Lie dunes of grey pebbles.
Some are pieces, some are bricks
that form pile upon one other
and sand blows into their holes.
It lies there for many a days,
Still, silent and calm.
Basking in the sun and soaking in the rain,
Surviving the warm loos and inhaling the petrichor.
Until one fine day,
A pair of hands touches it.
Strong, grasping and firm.
It took it's landing on a grey wet layer,
And was soon joined by its brothers and sisters.
It did it know what clothes it would wear and in what colour,
it did not know will the clothes tickle or scratch it,
It did not know whether it would get more than one clothes
it did not know whose canvas it would become.
Would it be a dazzling hotel for all walks of life,
Or perhaps it would be the most renowned hospital in town.
What if it was the abode or the crown or
A place of nostalgia for children and adults one day,
Or a place like the wishing well.
It could have the kindest souls or the harshest ones.
But it did not know because it still lies in piles,
All over the metropolis.
Whereas all its family were a part of something or another,
And blended perfectly with the stygian, befouled skies.
All it knew it would be a roof for something or the other.
But it was not content because
What about the hands which lead it to its job,
What about the burning desire in the heart of those firm hands,
For a warm bed and roof above their head.
The beads of sweat escaping their body quenched the earth's thirst.
Their children played in the rubble.
They stayed in the grey building for hours,
And the moment it was finished they went to another.
They were never known and were considered the poorest of all.
But what those people who roam around those halls don't realise,
Is that there wouldn't be anything for them to be smug about,
If it weren't for these so poor labourers.
As the blocks see all that goes around them,
They often think to themselves,
Those who build a roof for others,
Aren't paid back with a roof of their own,
Which they out of all people deserve the most.
Not the rich people, not the rich builders,
Not the people who connect the wires,
Not the people who supply water,
Not the artist who paint the wall,
Not the doctors who save lives,
Not the ministers who make the world a better place to live in,
But that kind, selfless, anonymous souls,
Whose work goes unnoticed in this new phase of life,
These are those people without which nothing would be possible,
These are the people who lay the foundation to each to be wonder of the world.
They are nameless and faceless,
But their effort is what builds the world we live in.