Friends
Here is another poem on the subject that is exercising everyone in the world: COV1D-19
It might interest you to notice that the poem consists of nine 3-line stanzas with the number of words progressively decreasing from the first to the last. The first stanza consists of nine-word lines and the last of one word lines. The attempt is to show the progressive diminution of the migrants' identity to nothingness.
Migrants?
Who is a
migrant? Let the Dictionary speak first:
A person who
moves from one place to another,
especially, to
find work; or an animal for food.
Do these
locked-out beings truly fit this sketch?
Uprooted from
work; driven out of their hovels;
herded into
pens; let loose like stray cattle.
Scattered like dry leaves by a whirlwind
Crowding the bus stops and rail stations
Q-ing for charity food like street bums
Hungry thirsty; desperate to go home
where they await hardly any welcome
even if they reached there unharmed
Bundled off by their employers
Disowned by the uncaring state
can they be called migrants?
What are they now?
Are they war refugees?
Are they stateless now?
Having no rights!
Citizens no more!
Bereft of dignity!
Just non-entities
None’s concern
Just abandoned
Unwanted
Forsaken
Nothings
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