They are holding up photographs of their missing loved ones.
They are scratching helplessly,
hopelessly, at the rubble.
Ran down long corridors,
roof was caving in.
Banged on metal doors
locked for safety on all floors.
Crawled on all fours,
no way out.
Hold onto each other.
Hold out your ID card for your mother,
so she’ll know it is your body when you’re found.
Is he the one they found alive?
Is she the one who had her hand amputated to free her from the rubble?
Are some still alive in there, in that mountain of concrete suffering?
Enough now – just give us her body so we can say goodbye.
The only breadwinner ;
old woman crying alone for her only daughter,
someone takes her picture, published in the press.
They were from some village, they were nobody.
Just a body.
They are praying
They are hoping
They are crying
They are dead
They are all dead now.
The number keeps rising,
The daily count
15 days and 1000 dead.
Can we please stop now?
Is this not the limit of cheap labour,
when the cheapness becomes too dear,
when the lowness of the price is too high a price to pay.
Why not give a damn, think a bit,
share a little of your abundance .
When you buy so damn cheap
Now you know the answer – spelt out in nine floors and 1000 dead bodies,
in uncounted lives ripped and torn like old garments
Enough now, it doesn’t have to be that cheap.
They didn’t want to slave for peanuts,
they just want a chance to earn.
They didn’t plan to lose their lives and limbs
or see their work mates burn.