I toil, I labour.
As the blaze of the sun
Turns into the shimmer of the moon,
The skies see me undone.
“Give us less hours!”
I want bread for my wife.
But I do not know her grief,
When I sell my life
For life.
“Give us less hours!”
With the intensity of red -
Red fire, red blood.
My blood.
I’ll fight.
Give us less hours.
-
Author:
AL17 (
Offline) - Published: December 7th, 2021 03:15
- Comment from author about the poem: A poem on unfair work hours from the perspective of the workingman
- Category: Sociopolitical
- Views: 27
Offline)
Comments4
'996' is the kind of work culture
so many others have to deal with...
still, we all fight our own battles
thanks for sharing
Yeah I guess it is all relative. Thanks for the comment
You've got it in one. The rest of Europe works the hours that suit them. The British worker just works, and even in retirement, he'll still be working.
Good write 17.
Thank you!
When you have a family to feed you take every opportunity to provide what they need...... just ask those who are self employed, the risk takers.
True. Thanks for your comment.
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