In My Country

In My Country
In my country there are
People of two categories:
Some are begotten
And the others are down-trodden.
But like the creamy layer
Between chubby buns
There is another group
Which is always forgotten.

Among the hectic morning activities
While rumbling sound of preparations
Come from every house,
They too make their presence felt
By scrapping their old coconut shells.
When the begotten diet to be fit,
And the down-trodden fast to pray,
Only this down-trodden pray to fast.

With rented clothes
And gilted ornaments
And fragmented hearts
They usually go to the
Marriage functions
Where the high class
Occupy the front seats
With much glamour and glitter,
And the low class simply pass
Enjoying the feast.

When all stand in a queue
In front of a ration shop
And come home sack full
They loiter around a supper market
And stealthily abscond
With empty bags.

In my growing country
There are still people living,
Crushed between people
Who are always forgotten.