The Longest March

| Poet – Gurbakhshish Singh |

Having shoulders stronger than ours,

the will immaculate and much simpler needs

the pawns of our society,

standing behind whom we boisterously preach,

embark on the longest march

to their main doors,

which is not a temple or a construction site

but upon their villages’ floors,

for they don’t know who their lord is anymore;

The landlord? Or the one whom they cannot see;

Their faith has become their dilemma

And their lords have shut the doors

Stay at home! Stay at home!

But what do we know… they ask

Will the food itself reach their homes?

As the burger, candy and sandwich people

put their memes, stories and jokes

The hunger creeps and reaches their throat

A bottle of water is the only support;

On deserted roads of the ghostly cities

their footsteps become the marching beat

to which sparrows and pigeons sing along

A song of separation, but with a hope

Came empty hands

to the lands fulfilling dreams;

They walk back leaving their rents unpaid

having seen their lives unhappening

taking with them a deeper sense of pain;

For the virus is not just in the air

it’s also in our hearts and thoughts;

What the world we’ve created

that those who created with their own hands

have no place to which they can call their home

have no place to which they can call their home


18 thoughts on “The Longest March

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