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Apr 26
the maid in our house raised me
and she loves me like her own I see
but when she asked for a raise
my father said she wasn’t worthy of such praise
And it kind of put me in a haze
for I see her working 16 hours a day
in freezing winters and in the middle of May
without so much of a complaint
no matter what she’s going through a smile on her face she’d paint
I’d come to see her as a saint
For she ironed my clothes and kept me fed
& didn’t mind my temper and some lousy words I’d said
She forgave everyone before going to bed
and never had time for a tear to shed
long mornings and short nights
She lived separated from our world and it’s heights
Thinking of the mouths to feed millions of miles away
So she worked till her feet ached without any dismay
My respect for her was always great but my anger is greater
Because what is this world where money and wealth kills us sooner or later
and we are never equal
because someone is a pheasant while others are regal
my paper planes don’t equate to your steel ones
and yet I should smile I say that money isn’t everything
While someone starves eating mud while you some show off their new diamond rings
so tell me how is that fair?
can’t god give everyone their decent share?
Or does he see their suffering and simply doesn’t care?
call it blasphemy, but I can’t bare to see despair
on the face of millions, because it’s something we can repair
Yet no one lifts a finger or gives a penny to spare
Because god did not make us equal
& that’s the truth when it’s bare.
My father didn’t actually say that but that’s just a reflection of how the society I grew up in find house workers less of a being than they are
Written by
A  18/F
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