After a long day's work,
I lay down and stretch out,
Aching all over,
As muscles have been tensed,
After light housework and sports,
I wonder about labourers,
Who carry burdens and baskets,
At the market,
They load their backs,
For a few liras,
That may never pay for bread,
Let alone future health costs,
As bones are bent and discs slipped,
They are maimed for life,
Such a tragedy for the poor,
The uneducated, The ignorant,
Who are useless when old,
Who use youth and physical strength,
That literally breaks their backs.
the world's underclass is defintiely neglected and abused ... they work so hard they have little time for most of life's pleasures and very little chance to seek supernal liberation ...
A poignant acknowledgment of the workers of the world. I suspect that some might add to your last lines by pointing out that what they lose in physical stamina or well-being they often, depending on the individual, gain twice over in spiritual resilience and insight. Enjoyed this very much.
excellent poem and so true. sometimes when i get bored with my job, i force myself to think about what other people have to do for a living and i realize i have nothing to complain about
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