Their Destiny.

Below flows the rivers of sweat,
Draining the many who hold their breath,
As they let the great master bathe,
while their own bodies still so wet,
Fight for the little they could get,
From the soiled hand protrude from the gate.

Do they know their sweat water becomes,
Behind the gates from where the hand comes,
To lend them a nights meal,
Or a hand out to pay the bill.
How of the big screens the boss stare,
To ensure they stand right there.

Deep in the circles sometimes comes a groan,
Despite all the sounds fighting to it drown,
But they are all but just doctored moans,
That originate from a single mouth at the lawn,
Or their recorded moans from the days long gone.
And oh, how they beat hands down every con.

Many have forgotten why their fathers blood shed,
And beloved they left behind shed tears in bed,
For today gives no reason to leave the bed,
Nor tomorrow promise a cup of lemonade.
But that they will always live like the dead,
Owners of nothing but memories of how they bled.

Yet many in their hearts nurture hope,
Hope that gives the strength to day's work cope,
Or even dreams that they will one day defiantly drop,
And put to a halt sowing of seeds from this same crop,
Their lives and dreams constantly hammer from the top,
Unaware of anger and pain build in their hearts fast throb.

Just as the masters name sometimes changes,
Within the camp somehow occur sudden changes,
When a friend thoughtfully rises and to them say,
His is to with them under the hot sun lay,
United they shall make the master his dues pay.
Perplexed they peacefully stare at the new page.

The old ones whisper and say 'tis a new cage,
The green hopefuls are sure there is more on the page,
But just when they bend to fetch it vanishes like a mirage,
And another day leaves them on a wild rampage.
How pitiful their own they turn to damage,
As he disappears once again in camouflage.

S.A.H Feb/2009