The Life of a Proletarian
Beneath the green dense jungle, he stands pall,
The heated rays touching him seem to have awl.
Facing dreadful animals and insects, he fumbles
Path is lost in shrubs and bushes he often rambles
Having empty stomach, a thirsty throat and an axe
He applies all his muscles to a timber and hacks.
Miserably vestured, not having anything sufficient,
He’s born with the misfortune of being indigent.
Impecuniosities are inherited to him by his ancestors
And he will delegate the same to his youngsters.
For availing each of basic needs he has to strive
This is the way how a wood cutter does survive.
Hoping for a ray of miracle which can enlighten,
He quetches why has he got a life of a proletarian
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