Fíonn a mháthair síoda,
Sníomhann a athair cadás.
D’fhág sé dorchadas na broinne
Ar mhaithe le croí dubh botháin.
Nuair a imeoidh sé,
Breosla do na muilte a bheidh ann.
Chun a cholainn gan cháim a bheathú
Cothóidh sé ocras doshásaithe caipitil.
Caithfidh a lámha go fánach bláthanna órga
Agus caithfidh a cholainn a cuid airgid.
Fuil a chroí a lasfaidh na laindéir gheala
I bhfuinneoga bainc.
An páiste seo, nach saonta, nach bídeach
Craos caipitil dó i ndán,
Ina sheasamh is é ag achainí os íseal:
Nach bhfuil éinne in ann mé a shábháil?
Ali Sardar Jafri
A Morsel
His mother weaves silk,His father spins cotton.
He left the darkness of the womb
For the black heart of a hovel.
When he leaves it,
He will fuel the mills.
To nourish his innocent body
He will feed the insatiable hunger of capital.
His hands will squander flowers of gold
And the body will spend its silver.
The bright burning lamps in bank windows
Will be fueled by the blood of his heart.
This child, so innocent, so small,
Destined for capital’s maw,
Stands pleading silently:
Can nobody save me?
