Farm out Father’s

a poem by Sathya N K

I knew naught when I held the spade
The grove I grub with its blade
Is being made, just for me
Oh! What an irony.

Till yesterday, many promises were bestowed
I sweated it out, sincerely as my aspirations soared
I did mete out all my skill, time and energy
for this very own company

Today, I’m told its time and I have to leave
All for sake of cut-rate man power wave.
Obtainable in the other part of world,
It’s sad to know that our labor dignity is out-rightly sold!

Hail! To these profit making master mind’s
For snatching away my future, dreams and earnings from behind
Once I held my head high, working to my potential
Now, left with no option, but latch on to any job than, snivel.

At he end of the day, what is it a big deal?
For these wise capitalist of ours, to feel,
Victorious and romp amid ruins of their own countrymen
In the name of out sourcing din!