The Voice from the Roads




Sitting down on a plushy chair, you pulled down your blinds. In the middle of a table and a lamp, you must be pondering, dreaming, or aspiring or fulfilling; you must be doing something to give your life meaning. The perfect layout of your room, the chandelier in the dining hall, all makes the place sublime. The white ceiling above you, with ornaments in the shape of stars and moons, reflecting the street light, ah, your pleasantly commodious space with all luxuries, necessities, and much more. 

And there you are, but then can you hear the voices around you?

“In the name of God, stop for a moment, cease your work, and look around you.”


Can you hear a voice with pauses and strains?

Can you hear a distressed, sad, and helpless voice?

Can you hear the cry of a mother who is carrying her differently-abled child?

Can you hear the sound of a sturdy stick of an old man hobbling on the road?

Can you hear the sorrow of those men drenched in sweat, for it was a sunny day?

Can you hear the spinal sprain because of the weight of heavy bags strapped on their backs?

Can you hear the panting men and women with sacks on their heads?

Can you hear the loud cry of a famished child who hasn’t eaten for three nights?

Can you hear those groups of people trudging back hundreds of kilometers to return to their homes?

Can you hear a tale of despair of such multitude with unanswered questions?

Can you hear the suffering and agony of inflicted men and women?

Can you hear the voice of monetary workers who are homeless and foodless?

Can you hear how ferocious storm ravaged through the city and destroyed lives, houses, agriculture and fishery?

Can you hear the voice of hopelessness because of the irreparable damage done by the cyclone?

Can you hear any such voice?

Can you see the image of such faces, who have starkly been left to die?

So, sitting on the same plushy chair, question your humanity, have we failed as a society? Have we failed as a country? God’s discrimination and inequality are definitely worth questioning what made the red blood of the migrant laborers any different than others, like the wheel of fortune, which shows the capricious nature of fate where the Goddess Fortuna spins it randomly where one suffer great misfortunes and other gain windfalls. As Karl Marx, a revolutionary and a utopian, who in his magnum opuses like Communist Manifesto and Das Kapital, pictured socialism and communalism as pillars of the future society, where bourgeoisie and proletariat will be equal. But in the contemporary world, when humanity is in existential crisis, let’s question what you and I can do?