A deep browning scar,
Blue winds soothe his boneless soul.
A human rug,
Sits under our feet
Paving ways for probable pioneers.
Death is his only inheritance.
An aberration, like the unkempt mane
Of a God drunk on power and the lack thereof.
Trousers being soddened with blood,
Limbs trudging through a difficult forest.
A history we shan't divulge,
Like the ash that hides inside our chimneys.
Our hearts are blackened,
Rot with corrupt notions of respect.

..............................................................................................................
(29/05/20)
Based on the migrant worker problem in India amidst the pandemic.

Cover picture : A dad trying to reach dying son amid coronavirus lockdown (sic)

16 migrant workers run over by train, Maharashtra.
6 migrant workers run over by bus, UP.
A child tries to wake its dead mother laying on a railway platform, Bihar.
About 50 deaths reported by the Indian Railways on Shramik Express, a special train started with the interest of returning migrant workers to their hometowns.

These stories are not isolated incidents. They are the stories of our countrymen succumbing to hunger and poverty. My wish and ability right now is simply to make people aware of these situations. If you have anything, food, money, water, transportation and the means to give it to someone less fortunate, please do. Our country is plagued by stories of everyday horror right now and we need every bit of kindness we can muster.

This article from Hindustan Times, a haunting read : https://www.google.com/amp/s/m.hindustantimes.com/analysis/documenting-the-story-of-india-s-migrant-distress/story-sVC8sCHFetXYBPKLa1OhZM_amp.html