No, I may not ever visit inside your home
or drink your cup of spiced tea, but I am a piece of you
this brown skin, dark eyes : what are we ?
At the Railway Station you ask to carry my bags, I used to
say ‘ yes’ and haggle over rates, now a shudder runs thru’ ; see, I could’ve been you, or yours, and it
hurts : I cannot stand this anymore, Class,Caste,Discrimination,Divides,Poverty, Need,Price Rise, and my bags so well zipped,
like the Colours in your eyes.
- A railway station by paragraph writing (nazmul716.wordpress.com)
- The Coolie,Hat’s off to their hard work (With water colors) (vinipaintnbrush.wordpress.com)