The day our prime minister announced the first lockdown, I was upset because I hadn’t stocked enough chocolates.
The day that our prime minister announced the first lockdown, migrants became jobless and homeless. Infuriated and scared because now they might not have enough to feed their families every day.
Living in houses with centralized ACs and more than needed rooms,
We often become strangers to a family of five living in a tent made out of plastic sheets and bamboos.
We sit by the window, sipping coffee because now every morning feels like a Sunday morning; hustle free.
While a little girl sits by the window waiting for her father, wondering if today is the day when the growling in her stomach would finally stop
Little does she know, his body lies on a train track; lifeless (16 migrant workers mowed by a goods train)
We complain because now we have to sweep and mop and wash and dry.
How exhausting, right?
While somewhere a mother carrying her daughter on her back and a bag with barely enough food for 2 days, walks and walks until the soles of her feet bleed. No insurance. No assurance.
We sleep with three pillows,
While some sleep on footpaths and train tracks
When you are grieving the lockdown over facetime
Their scarped and withered shoes, long for the sight of their village
How hauntingly unfair is it?
That you and I only have to make minor adjustments
While they drown in poverty and negligence
How we leave them wretched
To be crushed under pandemic,
Famine and trains.
You may have to prepare meals
You may have to prepare meals
You may have to struggle to find time to do all the things you have planned
But some have no work to find time around
You may be exhausted by carrying weights and doing cardio
But some are aching under the weight of their bags and have blistered feet and empty stomachs. And yet they keep walking
So the next time you complain, remember
You have all things and more,
That a famished little girl longs for.
