The Ivory Coast Poem by Rizwana Sultana

Tiny little boys,
Think about the innocents' fate,
Whenever you have a bar.
Of dark chocolate.

Full of cocoa fruit,
Carrying the heavy sacks,
With extreme effort and hardship,
On their fragile backs.

Under the tyranny,
Suffering the cruel slavery,
Why can't we step ahead,
To assist them, with bravery?

Injuring themselves with the machete,
Making hundreds of whacks,
To extract the seeds of cocoa,
Hundreds in sacks.

By their stone-hearted masters,
Tortured and beaten,
Then the chocolate is made,
Which they have rarely eaten.

Even locked up in dirty rooms,
To prevent them to run,
Without any facility,
Of clean and tidy rooms given.

Are they children or prisoners?
I am struck with wonder,
Hiring them the whole day,
Forcing them to work harder.

Finally, the bar reaches the shops,
Which is their hard work's result,
They toil and drop sweat,
Performing the task difficult.

When I bring a piece of chocolate,
In front of my mouth,
Should I have it or not,
I have a doubt.

The final packed bar,
Is the fruit of their labor,
In which they perspire,
And their sweat is converted to vapor.