Our neat city is dotted by eyesores
Slums adjacent to the golf course
With dust covering their every pore
they come hankering to every door
The rag picker, cleaner and the mason
The hoards of urchins at the station
Systematically killing this global centre
every day in thousands this city they enter
Wish we could clean up this mess
this city would do better with some people less
Root of all crimes, they symbolise pettiness
Behaving just the way they tend to dress
****
Save your rupee, not for me
for I work for the smallest fee
Dust on my face and my hands muddy
I live in the hutment by the scree
My wage is only worth your new bag
your new suit can buy me several rags
yet I see you haggle even for the national flag
while spending a fortune for a shag?
I am ashamed to see you denounce
the ragpicker when he cheats you an ounce
your morality to him you announce
and preach him the honesty that counts?
****
Country rat or the randy savage
working here for a pittance wage
Cloistered in his dirty cage
Shouldn’t his life turn a new page?
He deserves a timely raise
and needs to overcome this phase
Earn in his country his rightful place
before this jury thus, I put-up his case
in his own country yet is in alien lands
building the city with his bare hands
Away from home, he trundles on
awaiting a new life and a new dawn
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