That man who trudges down the asphalt lines, sifting the sundry remains of the day
Like a bottled-up shadow in a stunted world, from the townsfolk why he shies away
That man who lays a million blocks to tend the edifices of posterity to new statures
Is himself wedged in a cramped gap with no substance, just repulsive caricatures
That man who stands at passageways pulling flaps for uncaring passers-by
Is he unsettled by the notion that he is a “nobody” as their snobby looks decry?
That man who scours the privies and lives a dismal life in grime
Distanced from masses, spurned by himself, a soul shrouded in odious slime
That man who crafts the sparkle of life with his sweat immersed in soil
Failed by regimes and destiny, forgotten for all the hallowed toil
That man who pushes the papers and gets the dealings done
“Why he merits…
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2nd Daniel 