To The Children Of Sweat Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

I dig gold from the earth’s deep womb
Make fabrics for the bourgeois room
Work the fields for the wealthy’s food
Tonsure forests for mansion wood
Nameless and insignificant
I have no status. Just two hands
Without power. Without a choice
Defenseless. Tired. Without a voice

The landlord has me in his hold
His sacks rupture with loads of gold
His belly bloats from what I sow
My own stomach, no food does go
Mocking my thirst, he swims in wine
I am a slave! My sweat’s not mine.
A beast - I toil and sweat all day
Shortchanged, I get no decent pay

Abuse chains me. I am not free
Naked. Stripped of my dignity
The stinging cold I have to bear
The deep tunnel I must not fear
The angry sun scorches my skin
Children must eat. I can’t complain
A mighty blow fractures my back
Faint, I won’t survive such attack
One person standing firm alone
Yields to the power of the throne

But there is strength in unity
An escape route from slavery
Ten lashes - no matter how strong
Can’t crack the ribcage of a throng
The masters say we cannot form
Organizations that can doom
Their lust for more power and wealth
But it’s a lie, it’s said in stealth

Fellow workers, we gather round
Steadfast. Run! Then we hold our ground
We’ve been hungry; what’s more of it
As long as we’ll soon reap our feat?
Exploitation must meet its end
So hunger will not rule the land
We, proletarians, claim our name!
Assert our pride! Erase our shame!