Vagrant Migrant

While the well-off citizens clap

Light a candle and have a ball

The migrants caught in a pincer

Writing is on the wall.

Trudging home, it is a long walk

Hunger and death, them they stalk.

What awaits them at home they know not

Labour laws suspended their rights now a naught.

Cancelled trains at a whim

Stale food served to him.

Shramik their life quite tragic

Their life, devoid of any magic.

Let us build a wall, not a big thing

Let them live unseen, that is something.

Good times have come for the industries

They too can have a ball,

Two hoots for labour who cries?

Life thy name has become strife

In this the new normal,

Ugly has become rife.