Labor Day - 'Our Nation Builders' Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

Labor Day - 'Our Nation Builders'

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The builders of our nation are
not the architects who design our bridges
not even the Government who allots the money
to buy the steel, cement and machinery
not even the political leaders who suggest to sanction
the bridges, public buildings and the roads….
but those poor laborers who toil from morning to dusk
under the scorching sun with sweating foreheads
their women carrying piles of concrete on their heads
to the construction sites with divine grace though they are weary
as their little children sit by the road side breathing dust
eating bread and lentil gravy freshly cooked on little fire-stoves,
while their fathers and mothers work hard though tired and thirsty
they have to work to pull in wages for their livelihood;
yet they never get richer though endlessly they slog
they dig the roads, align the stones, mix sand and gravel.
O’ so many kinds of work they do ….. sometimes chiseling the rocks
piling up the mud, scaffolding, shuttering, plastering
and do the tarring of the roads as carbon fumes they silently inhale
not understanding the ill-effects of air pollution or dust
yet they breathe, steadily they work without grumbling
and though machines much bigger, much stronger can carry the load,
dig out the ground, lift and place the iron rods, the steel-work,
yet the laborers put in their manual efforts
to erect, to harness the connections,
as concrete mix pours and bridges get built
buildings turn into skyscrapers, roads get widened…..
those laborers never get any appreciation
their names are never written on the plaques of those buildings
bridges, gardens and public schools where they have toiled.
Finally, only the names of builders and political leaders shine
as newspapers declare the completion of the project
while the poor laborer sits in his make-shift hut,
packing his bags -in one sack utensils and remnants of grocery provisions
in other sacks he stacks the clothes and the stove
then they all board the bus and are ready to move on to the next site
not knowing they are the builders of our nation, our true pride.

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
In my country India, the labor community works very hard and their effort and hard work is seldom recognized or rewarded. In silence and in ignorance the laborers work to make the countries beautiful, comfortable and accessible. I salute the workers of every country and pray to God to shower blessings on them- the blessings they much deserve and need - the blessings of good health and grace.
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