Migrant Labourer

Call it darkness in the noon

The sun set and fell down.

The blood-soaked pieces scattered over the rail.

The tragedy outsounded by the running train.

The spectre of the virus looms over

The country is under forced isolation.

The people are lost in themselves.

Nobody cares for poor migrants.

The labourers leave their home

To build a paradise on the globe

The paradise lost to enemy unseen.

The poor makers are an unfortunate victim.

Decisions made inside glass door

Knowing nothing about ground zero.

Neither can stop reverse migration

Nor mitigates miseries or hunger.

Horror never seen before

So much suffering on the road

The pregnant woman limping back home 

No food or shelter for hundreds of kilometers.

Death staring them so near

Pressed under hunger and fear

Neither distance nor the police

Stand against the survival instinct.

Rare to find an instance in history

Man cycles thousand miles

Reaches the land so native

With hope, faith, and dream.

Strange things happen in life

Known as a hero all the while

Looked with fear in recent time

But they are left to make living.

Nobody is there to care

Pack of promises only to stare

Pray to God to save the country

Where makers of destiny face ignominy.