What goes around comes around
When we came, we cried and they laughed
They shared a drink and called a feast
So hostile to our infantile cry
And if we didn’t cry, they pinched and slapped
Just to hear us cry the more.
Amidst all odds, we strive and strike
Making few allies and more of foes
If lucky, we count many years and days
Till the windows grow weak and dim
And the strikers become weak and leave
Then the ghost no longer at ease
As he leaves, the empty house is filled to the fore
With the cries of those who had laughed before