THE LOT OF A POOR SLUM-DWELLER

Clad in a ragged cloth,
chewing tobacco
sitting cross-legged
outside the slum
the slum-dweller
oblivious of all the cacophony
happening around
looked up at the
top floor of the multi-storied
building.
He felt like his head
squirming which frightened
him a bit.
He recalled those days when
he as a construction
labourer along with his
fellow slum-dwellers
were engaged in construction
work of that building.
Then he as if he was
the owner of the
building could pass
through each room, each
floor of the multi-storied
building with none left
to stop him.
Upon completion of
the work
ended his freedom to enter
the building
he became a total
outsider, an outcast
like his fellow workers.
The fat cats who were nowhere
in the vicinity of the building
came and each occupied each
flat,
and
they looked down upon
him and his friends with
contempt and hatred.
A man appeared at the
balcony of the top floor.
He looked down upon the
slums and slum-dwellers
like nasty ugly hated lot.
His head too must be squirming.
The man at the balcony
who looked like a pigmy
spat in the direction of
the slums and slum-dwellers
and
the poor slum-dweller hung
his head in shame and pain
with a deep sigh
like a defeated soldier.