By Avanti Hebbar
In the cold of the night,
And the days so rough,
There stands a man, still tough.
Working day and night,
In snow and rain to feed hungry mouths,
Hoping for a future bright,
Toiling and sweating,
Oft bleeding and in pain,
He toils and works,
With hope in his heart for that next meal.
Next to him walks a businessman tall,
Dressed to his fingertips,
Flaunting his riches and all,
The toiler looks at him in awe.
Both so close, yet a bridge so far,
The chasm between rich and poor,
One lives in luxury's gleam,
The other ponders his next meal's score.
A stark difference, profound and strong,
Leaves the toiler questioning what's wrong,
Why life isn't fair,
Why burdens he must bear.
Is toiling a sham?
Or is nobility merely a scam?
In the relentless march of time,
The disparity etches a rhyme,
Of the never ending struggle,
Where fortune plays with futility.
Yet in the toiler's heart beats a fire,
Of resilience and unquenched desire,
To bridge that gap, to defy the odds,
To rise above, despite the facade.
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