The Masked Heroes

I shuttered the world of innocence

That clouded my eyes,

And saw the pain they took, 

That was worth more any fees, worth more any price.

Service for  them was their ritual,

They did for the beauty of our smile

Service for them was their prayer

Upon which they bestowed their heads throughout their life

The magic they bring

The comfort they inject

Is the beauty of their honesty

That more than money demands our respect

Our life without them is like that black and white frame

That keeps hanging on the walls all restless and lame

It is those beautiful colours that instil life in those dead frame

That become the pillar of our block

That become the root to our stem

They are the same colours that light up our homes

And become a linning of gold upon the rust

They are the same hands which waters our garden

Erase out all the negativity, all the dust.

Life without them is not less than a spilled pudding

That once scattered can't be moulded again

They polish our dull life

Accompany us to broken paths, broken lanes

Numbers can't count their year's hard work

A note can't clean their sweat

Doctors, nurses and all the labours

Are our masked heroes that deserve the world's respect

I photographed the seven wonders of world

But didn't get any peace

Because the real beauty lied in a picture

Where a young boss touched the elder labour's feet.