The Workers Are Also Human

Fifty men of Bangladeshi mining workers have to sleep- A large room in a warehouse, While the light reservoir plays all the time, From there, sometimes the sound of tired crying is fiddling. The palms of their hands are like stiff rocks, With that hand they have to cut stones, The sweat is coming out from thier body, They are going through the pressure of excessive work pressure. Thousands of people are carried at dawn- The train is reached by the dark cave, Someone says 'save me', someone says, Oh! Oh! ! Some people blame their fate. During lunch, they look intently, Japanese engineers eat the table in the shady tent, They pass their time with smiles, But the workers stand by plate with their hands. There is no place for them to sit, There is no table for them, Many people want to make chaos, There is no one to hear their complaints. After a while everything has gone as before, They keep weaving new new dreams, They want to get their relatives left at home, Someday they will dance with the loud cry.