Colour!

 

See I, colours-Emerald, Jade

and Gold, and many other around me.

Denies me my life all such hues,

When I stay in a shabby shack

With a roof of plastic-sheet-bits,

Thrown to the streets by market-men,

With no care for people around,

On untangling his bundle sets.

My father was a farmworker,

For whom farm was his soul-rapture.

Now farming is a big question,

As the workers-unions entire

Have in hands flags of bargains.

Strikes and strokes of all types here

Destroy the lush of green splendour.

Paddy plants fled their shelter

Fearing the political act, the act of

Yielding work stoppages.

Now the food waste and public taps

Are oases shading us from starving.

My peers and pals stay in mansions,

Which telecast always master-riches.

The parents in cushions compete in

Completing their ward's all needs.

I, the poor, with an inept life

Of the entirety depicting poverty,

Am denied by the very destiny 

Luxury, support and comfort.

But look, one day, I will soar 

Over mountains to conquer 'Vibgyor'

And sprinkle around great gaiety 

And bathe in sparkling golden words.