There has been a photo getting highly viral over the social media platform where a child is asleep on a trolly bag and is being dragged by his mother. There are several devastating photos and this is one of them. Although I have the basic comfort required at the moment, but it gives me goosebumps if I imagine myself at this lady’s place.
Here is the poem which my disturbed mind compelled me to write-(plot : if this mother replies her son about their current position)
Few Rich, becoming rich of the richest
We Poors, forced to become poor of the poorest
We Migrants on road, wanting just a train or a bus
But Government or employer, who to cuss
Bread and butter, not seen for days
Have Biscuit and water , there are no other ways
Although many fellas are trying to feed and support us
But we are so many, and they are not enough
No one except few can feel our damages
The One having lavish shelters are busy being helpless
And accepting freakin challenges
Media, just showing us and getting views
But when will we be reaching our homes, there is hardly any news
I know you are tired and want to rest
But unfortunately there are many more kilometres ahead
for our family to welcome us as guest
Until then, sleep on this trolly bag
And let me begin to drag.
If you genuinely feel the same or similar, by imagining your well being by stepping into the shoes of migrants, I humbly request you to share it on which ever social media platform you feel likely sharing, if you can.Thanks for reading
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