Site : DS150
Sewage Treatment Plant , Dubai
Dedicated to all the labours ..........
The black smiles , under his eyes.
The marks inscribed by the burden of pictures.
The pictures of his child's dine plate.
Echoed the sounds of their mama's excuse and promises.
The orange crown he wore above the brain,
the Engineer's calls it " Helmet".
In his arms, clamped the big spoon ,
The Engineer's calls it " Shovel ".
Big Boots rooted to mud, tasting sweat ,
Crawling from his forehead.
Working as a numb human robot,
He stops , he looked around ,and he founds
Orchard of his clones , doing the same.
Waits until the clock's arms comes in line,
The siren goes on, and he goes home.
Sometimes in search of some guilt, the instant pleasure.
He masturbates watching the same picture,
Half teared , over Indian seat.
No time for timeless god , he uesd to pray,
But the gods never comes out of the frames.
Only his roommates knows his name ,
for the rest he is " Labour Number Hundred And Ten".