By Tathagata Roy Chowdhury
Lemme pause to take a breath. Our dreams are haunted by those Trapped inside; our tears muddy. Black eats at our nails, leaving behind Bones and black. With a cough, comes red specks On grimy threads of white cloth. What is a pandemic to a coal miner? Our hammers fall on steel, Round the clock from five to nine. The chimneys of the factory chime along With the clock in the town hall. Here, choices are few - To put food on the table, Or hang by the noose. What’s a pandemic to a factory worker? You are an impediment to Mother. You are but a paper tiger.
Tathagata is a high school student and a political activist.
The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author.