Bodies on buses flagging arms and limp legs
in tired colours of creased green, blue or red
sloppily loaded every morning and evening
to destinations with no charm or shade.
I see them everywhere on weekdays and weekends
the colour of thankless jobs changing with car speed
cutting grass, building stadiums, laying roads
herds of them clustered sharing meals
under biting heat and pricking chills
every dime earned in this foreign land
weighs heavier in their country
dreams of tiny faces somewhere
wrinkled or bangled aspirations
elsewhere tied to it.
no smile awaits to welcome each evening
no soothing hands to wipe sweat
or tears of frustration.
home cooked warm food, a luxury once
every two years
their lives squished by colossal loans
and dubious agents
fatigue and loneliness
their constant companions
toil is the only language their bodies utter
their colour of skin same as my brown
other's privileged eyes pose before
museums and beaches
their glued eyes struggle to open
after each day's drudgery.
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