The Labourers Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Once a crew of labourers came at a place
And build a cottage shorn of cherished grace.
The started to execute a grand plan
Of some great land lord or business man.
The worked day and night without stop
And began to build top on another top.
People wondered what was the project
And what was its master's purpose exact
Roumers spread all around in guise of fact.
No thought in itself was sound and compact.
Passing seasons saw the labourers working
Hard workers they were nothing work shirking.
These cottage dwellers built a grand palace
No brick of prejudice was used nor of malice.
Their nails were satisfied with the hard toil
The cottage against the palace was a foil.
But they cared for the Master's pleasure
Nothing else they gave any measure.
At last the kind Master visited the place
His eye was pleased to see the palace's grece.
He alloted the palace to the good souls
Who had with honesty played their roles.
Man is the labourer, He is the Master
Peace in heart, peace in world, no disaster.