Dawn

The sun rises, reddening the blue sky
Shining on millions of faces singed in hunger.

Bringing smiles to the starved as they
Go to fields and factories to earn, to douse

A burning in the stomachs of children and
Live the next day. They don't demand any

Skyscrapers, only a little sunshine, an azure
Sky that has been overcast for so long;

Controlled by evils. Rickshaw-pullers are
Happy going out early, day laborers smile

At the bright day imbued with promises, for,
No work now means to starve the full day.

Urban crows, stray dogs, and slum dwellers
Looking emaciated, wearing grimy clothes

Wander with eyes so red, sleepless night
After night, in search of food among trash.

Officers, businessmen, politicians haughtily
Talk of their happiness over steaming coffee;

Hour after hour, showing off their property
Compiled at the expense of sweat and blood

Of workers and peasants. How can the poets
Write immortal lines at dawn when the birds

Sing soft notes as if the nightingale soothes
The weary travelers? Yet they start the day

Writing poetry inspired by dreams; to inhabit
The world of humans; and I begin at the end.