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It is not the slum
There is nothing illegal
This is the place of exploited people
They are those whom you drove out
This is the palace of the leaves
This is the world of cardboard.
Why do the helpful tin pieces
Now pierce your heart?
You complain the view is lousy
Through your window,
But when you see a young girl,
Why is your eye fixed upon her?
The air is polluted that side.
The area is full of smoke.
But vultures never miss it,
When they spot a dead body.
They search for cheap labor
In these shanty towns.
The poor people get crushed
And you enjoy the life.
The robber wears a suit.
His tie is but a noose.
And if there was a God
He'd be hanging from it.
This is not a dirty settlement.
Don't demolish it by bulldozer
Just clear your own mind
Where greed is fermenting
The compassionate pieces of tin
Provide us shade.
But you couldn't give anything,
Though you were born a human being.
V. K. Chowdhary