What else shall we have, in the selfish community? <br />That always behaves, as if the poor not exist. <br />They need us to move their machines, <br />Toil in their fields and hit their key boards. <br /> <br />Once their Mansions and palaces, <br />Malls and halls are built and finished, <br />We become the strangers, not to be recognized, <br />Though our sweat hidden under each slab. <br /> <br />Hundreds of washrooms, in the Buckingham palace, <br />royals and powerful to use. we have the shed, <br />that is called as lavatory, hundred yards away. <br /> <br />What can be done, without the subjects? <br />We are the vanilla seeds, thrown out after the use. <br />The fear of future at heart is a real torture, <br />The doubt of tomorrow at thought is a real agony.<br /><br />veeraiyah subbulakshmi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vanilla-seeds/
