A burden to be.
Poverty, helplessness struck.
A bread winner was I,
Now a burden to be.
When I worked in those fatal fields,
Money was rewarded in my hands.
But now, a body sans hands.
No rewards in my way but a punishing feel.
With those hands I had bought her a saree,
Some toys and toffee for my angelic kids,
She works as maid, the colour of her saree fades.
They eat whatsoever is served with no wish of gifts and games.
I want to give them warm hugs, but how?
I have no hands to hold or to be held.
Who should I blame?
Myself for borning as a poor?!
Or the riches,
Who for money and greed,
Used my helplessness like a slavery,
I worked in those fatal factories like a machine.
What to say now?
Even the machine which the docs use to support my weight,
Feels so cold as ice that my body aches.
'Cause I know, the money they'll ask for,
My family cannot provide.
The comfort I yearn to give,
I can never again...
Afterall, without those hands,
All I am: a burden to be.