Shattered Dreams

In Eastern lands where shadows dwell, Amidst a tale that silence tells, The sit-at-home, a solemn rite, Weeps with the poor families' plight.

In hushed abodes where dreams are spun, A struggle fought from rise to sun, The poor families, hearts so brave, Bear the weight of Mondays' grave.

With every dawn, they rise to strive, To keep their dreams and hopes alive, Yet Mondays come with somber hue, Unyielding, harsh, and full of rue.

The breadwinner, with furrowed brow, Yearns for work, but knows not how, For markets closed and shops lie still, The meager coins no more instill.

Children's laughter, once so bright, Now fades in shadows of the night, As school bells rest, their dreams deferred, In silence, innocence is stirred.

Mothers weep in solitude, Their hearts crushed in gratitude, For simple joys they can't afford, Their sacrifices, unexplored.

Fathers clutch their calloused hands, Against a fate that firmly stands, They yearn for days of fair reprieve, To mend the lives they can't retrieve.

In unity, their spirits rise, Bound by love, through tear-filled eyes, Yet hope's flame flickers in despair, As weight of want seems too much to bear.

But, midst the dark and broken dreams, A light of change, a whisper gleams, For hearts unite, and voices soar, In search of peace, forevermore.

Let nations hear their mournful cries, Through empathy, new hope shall rise, For in the East, and far and wide, The poor families shall not hide.

Let's mend the wounds of history's page, With empathy and love engage, To heal the scars of shattered dreams, And bathe the land in hopeful streams.

In Eastern lands where shadows dwelt, A new day dawns, love shall be felt, The sit-at-home, a tale retold, In unity, a future to behold.