CITADEL OF SUFFERING
Tired they are getting
Like farmers in the farm cultivating
With bare hands, mounts they are creating
With crude implements clattering
In this citadel of suffering
Like goldsmiths refining gold
In a furnace burning feebly
With primitive air-bag pumped
With rotten sticks producing less air
Even blowing air with bare mouth to no avail
In this citadel of suffering
Like suffering brick layers
For services not paid
With stomach tracing to the back
Like gray-hounds with no master
Yes can the barber cut
When the clipper is not sharp?
We are marooned in this citadel of suffering
Like poultry farmers
With no food for the chicken
The farmer feeds on the chicken
When the master could not pay
I am the chicken
I am the grass
That suffers when two elephants fight
Seeking asylum in a citadel of suffering
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