Its a very hard life
\nFor these women
\nAt Melilla a border town where
\nSPAIN and Morocco are trading
\nBut deep in the heat and despair<\/p>\n
At five am every morning
\nThe women queue up and await
\nA pittance for what is just slavery
\nThat seemingly doesnt abate
\nWith families to care for and
\nHouse rent to pay
\nAnd no help from government
\nThe only way
\nIs to act as a mule and carry across
\nBales of whatever
\nFor the women a loss
\nOf dignity truly and packages weigh
\nUp to sixty kilos too much I should say<\/p>\n
But the need is to earn
\nAnd to earn they must slave
\nTO buy food to pay debts
\nAnd also to save
\nThe boxes are heavy
\nCutting into their backs
\nResigned to this torture
\nEven heavier packs
\nSometimes they carry
\nWatching them they
\nAre really mule women
\nWho earn little pay<\/p>\n
Their faces are lined
\nThey lack hope one can see
\nWringing their hands
\nUnpropitiously
\nAnd its every day
\nNo let up at all
\nPoor women that really
\nHave to just haul
\nMany illiterate
\nRolled up bales
\nSome would be better
\nJust Rotting in gaols<\/p>\n
The violence of the inner soul
\nThe perils of s life times role
\nA lesser valued symphony
\nLost in a timeless bid to be
\nAccepted in this day and age
\nWorthy of a proper wage
\nMules kickoff on sanity
\nThe EU and depravity
\nSpirit sucked out of the soul
\nFurthering some far off goal<\/p>\n
Enslaved by circumstance to be
\nAnything but actually
\nFeminine and clad in sweat
\nTaut of muscle few will let
\nTheir valour show as much as they
\nWho work as mules to save each day
\nWomen the true feminine
\nNot feminised who spoke of sin
\nAgainst them on the road to hell
\nFor a measly wage and a lengthy spell<\/p>\n
Fighting just to maintain life
\nAlongside what is pock marked strife
\nHoping for s place of worth
\nIn the gutter now of earth
\nAngels in another life
\nCloaked in sweat and utter strife
\nTo feed the family with ones nerve
\nIn the squalor to preserve
\nAble just about to see
\nA path out of insanity<\/p>\n
No case for celebration Though
\nMuscled aching the too snd fro
\nIlluminated in the need
\nTo rest a while perhaps to bleed
\nInside racked up with taut and flow
\nCramp and ache and fatigue and blow
\nOld skateboards just to relieve the weight
\nDuty free luggage at any rate
\n20 or 30 euros earned
\nBut no one who knows them is concerned<\/p>\n
300 euro’s a month maybe
\nBut their rent is high and occasionally
\nA hand out of food from a local man
\nThey wait and they wait
\nIts all part of the plan
\nFor sixteeen years she’s been doing this stint
\nIts exploitation for most are skint
\nEarly morning they must be there
\nIn the line to try and share
\nWhat work is coming what bales they get
\nWith the hopelessness of eternal debt<\/p>\n
Abandoned in fact by society
\nThe EU’s impropriety
\nReoresentatives fortunes high
\nBut these poor women
\nTheir wish to try
\nAnd make ends meet
\nThey dont want a lot
\nChildren to be fed and clothed
\nThey are not
\nAble to fight for bandouts they
\nCan work their butts off
\nOr go away<\/p>\n
And each is responsible
\nEvery one
\nWhen each wretched day is done
\nTo try and manage
\nTo try and be
\nSmugglers for all to see
\nIn many ways its vulgarity
\nUnseemliness an obscenity
\nFlaunting and shameless in this day and age
\nIndecorous and off the page
\nMy heart is with them
\nIts churlish and crude
\nAn unprepossessing mousy brood<\/p>\n
But these are women everyone
\nFading beauty in the sun
\nWry of face forbidding they
\nHave more crows feet than the crows today
\nShapeless formless dumpy squat
\nDisfigured by the life they have got
\nThe boredom and the tediousness
\nThe monotony and constant stress
\nThe daily round its a constant rut
\nAching backs and a aching gut<\/p>\n
This poem badly upset me I have to say
\nAnd its happening in SPain right now
\nAnd these are women with families to look after
\nWho must slave or die<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Its a very hard life For these women At Melilla a border town where SPAIN and Morocco are trading But deep in the heat and despair At five am every morning The women queue up and await A pittance for … Continue reading