‘Daily War He Wages…’

Walking up and down, hungry,
And thirsty, but he works, until night
Because, there in his home, 

Is his old mother, starving,
For a good day meal, weak and 
Trembling, in the cold.

Is his beautiful wife, working
All the time to meet the day’s end,
Still wearing that torn saree.

Is his little daughter, 
Who falls asleep, everyday, throat dry 
With crying aloud for milk.

At the end of the day, 
He is beaten to bones and his sore
Body complains out loud,

But the moment he gets
His day wage, for the painful war
He waged that day,

He smiles, for he gets to
Feed his family, a little,
Another day…

© Ada

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