The Guestworker / The Roadworkers' Plea

The Guestworker Where's my country? Where's my state? Is it in the very place Where I put down my tools? Is it in the very place Where I arrive, Where I fill myself like an animal, Where I pass the night? Where is my country? I too have my dreams, But where are the places where I would plant them? I too have my wishes, But where are the places where I would grow them? I too want to speak The language of human beings With other human beings, But where is my sense of being a citizen? Where are my countrymen? Is it where I go down, Where I'm forced, Subjected to indifference, To build a gravestone? 1:23 PM 31 March 2000 Putli Sadak Click here for Nepalese Language Version

The Roadworkers' Plea Come, let us too survive like chips of stone Who have crowds But no one of their own; Who are broken into pieces, Pounded, trampled underfoot; Who are transported all around, Loaded in trucks, Carried back and forth Wherever the bosses want them to go. Who have no homes of our own. (Or have the whole earth for our home!) Who have nowhere to sleep, No fixed hearths to cook our food. Come, let us too survive like chips of stone Not speaking the language of the heart Even when together. Allowing the outward sounds of beating To be sufficient. Come, let us too survive like chips of stone In this place where we're estranged the most. 1:42 PM 31 March 2000 Putli Sadak Click here for Nepalese Language Version