Workers

Workers are born

And toil hard all their lives

On farms and in factories

In malls and hotels

And anywhere one can think of

That’s low grade

As per the highbrows

Their eyes don’t see

A lot many beautiful things

That are free

They don’t have time

And when they have

They rest or sleep

Or drown their sorrows

In glasses of whiskey

All their lives they dream

Of moving into a bigger shack

A better home and a better life

They take loans

And in instalments kill themselves

Their life just a entry

In official records

In a way

If workers are carriage horses

Those in IT banking

And many other glorified services

Can be called race horses

For they are always racing

From one race to another

Panting heaving

Frothing through their mouths

Their reward

Executive of the month or week

And maybe a cheap souvenir

But they are still workers

©️ShashikantDudhgaonkar