Oct 2015
Her body, tired.
Her limbs, overworked.
Her baby, forever wailing.
Laying bricks around,
That's who she is.
The little lady,
Who puts houses together
But couldn't build her own life.
That's who she is,
Forced to survive,
Forced to be something
That she was never born to become.
She goes to sleep after washing off the dust,
That she knows will collect in the same places tomorrow
And the day after that,
And the day after that,
And the lifetime after that.
Laying down the concrete,
That's who she is.
The old young lady,
Who mixes cement for a living
But couldn't glue her life back together.
Her limbs, overworked.
Her baby, forever wailing.
Laying bricks around,
That's who she is.
The little lady,
Who puts houses together
But couldn't build her own life.
That's who she is,
Forced to survive,
Forced to be something
That she was never born to become.
She goes to sleep after washing off the dust,
That she knows will collect in the same places tomorrow
And the day after that,
And the day after that,
And the lifetime after that.
Laying down the concrete,
That's who she is.
The old young lady,
Who mixes cement for a living
But couldn't glue her life back together.
This is the life of an average Indian female construction worker. She is forced to do back-breaking work and is still expected to cook and clean up for her husband, not to mention take care of her child without much support. There are many societal and economical challenges hindering her aspirations and dreams.
