Construction laborers

I am nothing, just a coolie/laborer who is only the footwear of the conglomerates, willing to work even during the day and night, the heat is gripping, the storm blows without knowing the time, in order to find a mouthful of rice.

Poetry of a Construction Worker

The roar of the engine sounded far away Under the wind blowing my ears My heart trembled as if before my eyes My pulse beats second by second The blood flows through my veins without stopping.

Day turns to night A breeze of air blows my chest As if I fell on the peak of a height Wild dust flying irregularly Thick mud stuck to my shoes

Messy, unkempt hair adorns the head, a dull, climbing face smudges my skin. Sweat pours like a fountain. Tears fall from seeing sadness. Just looking for a mouthful of rice.