The Migrant's Poem

Will you Walk with Me ?* 

The Migrant Poem

As you miss your morning walk, can you walk this road  with me...
I’ve helped to build your house dear sir, can you share my agony ?
Just a few steps, not very far, as the blisters taunt my feet...
Can you share  a sip or two with me , of hopelessness and heat?
No one cares , no second look , no plane to bring me back ?
My child on hips, my future bleak, my life in one limp sack...
Unseen, unheard , no voice , no vote - the stream unwanted flows.
No open arms, no petals fall, the sound of closing doors.
My child looks up, eyes question me, to this nation I belong ?
No time  for migrants walking home , but for spirit,  queues  are long ?
And yet for those who labour low, we have no wheel or bus,
No train, no food, no care , no speech - no fancy words or fuss?
We walk the walk, you talk the talk, watch tragedy with ease ?
Society sinks in symphony, dont miss the real disease.
“Oh give them cake , if there is  no bread “, ignore their whine and noise;
And they’ll die down or disappear , a mass without a voice.
Snap your fingers when you need them next , and they will walk this path once more,
To build your home, or lift your load or mop your marble floor.
Migrant guest , you’re like God himself , remembered only in our  need,
All other times , not  seen , not heard, just camouflaged by greed.
These images will haunt us , the visuals take a toll ,
The hopeless  eyes, the tired feet, a nation without soul!
Aatmanirbhar - too big a word tag along my path  with me ,
I’m vocal and I’m local , but no one seems to see.
_I’m vocal and I’m local, but no one seems to see.
_By Anil Abraham_