He works squeezing strength, <br />Sweating body, agonizing soul, <br />Moulds and re-moulds, <br />Shapes and reshapes, <br />The metals hard. <br /> <br />Loads on and unload cargoes <br />From the ships and trains, <br />Breaks into pieces, <br />Heads of the boulders, <br />With the force of shoulders, <br />Lays them straight to make the roads <br />Leading to destinations. <br /> <br />Contrives dams to block water, <br />Or turns tracks of the rivers, <br />Builds houses and hotels, <br />And sky-scrapers too. <br /> <br />He blackens his whole being, <br />While working at the kilns, <br />And subterranean tunnels of coal, <br />But sleeps on the path and pavements, <br />Or on the bed of bare ground. <br />His kids go through the lanes of life, <br />Unschooled and underfed, <br />With dry lips and starved bellies, <br />And always with a load of patience, <br />Curtailed dreams hover around them, <br />But always out of their reach. <br /> <br />They cry out to call out, <br />The hoarders of wealth, <br />Pioneers of the world, <br />To rescue them out, <br />From the self devised quagmire, <br />To compose the world a place worth-living, <br />Else it will remain smouldering, <br />Emitting out smoke of violence, <br />And the world will remain plague-ridden.<br /><br />Muhammad Shanazar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/smoke-of-violence/
