What else shall we have, in the selfish community?
That always behaves, as if the poor not exist.
They need us to move their machines,
Toil in their fields and hit their key boards.
Once their Mansions and palaces,
Malls and halls are built and finished,
We become the strangers, not to be recognized,
Though our sweat hidden under each slab.
Hundreds of washrooms, in the Buckingham palace,
royals and powerful to use. we have the shed,
that is called as lavatory, hundred yards away.
What can be done, without the subjects?
We are the vanilla seeds, thrown out after the use.
The fear of future at heart is a real torture,
The doubt of tomorrow at thought is a real agony.
Yes, the bulk of humanity has been treated as just fodder for the powerful - and sadly, as your poem points out, it is still the reality in many parts of the world...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is such a contrast between the rich and the poor. You have described it well. But with have a pride of character we rise above. Read mine - I Cannot Return - Adeline