Laborers

Where did they go
when the capstone was finally fitted
and the labor contracts were off in the garbage?

Where did they go
when the Taj Mahal had absorbed its last marble
and the laborers were without their paychecks?

Where did they go,
the names of the masons who built the Coliseum?
Are they scribbled and hidden away in the arches?

Where did they go
when King John claimed his glory for England,
before the people’s great revolt had ended?

Where did they go,
the laborers who riveted the Empire
and thrust a wonder to New York’s skyline?

Where do the migrants go
when the politicians’ take advantage
And Dubai becomes anything but a shining dream.

Where do the workers go
when the skyscrapers are stained with their blood,
and employers’ side step the law to make a victim?

Where do they go
when their desperately needed paychecks
are withheld, and they cannot pay their debts?

Where do they go
when the practice is illegal,
but the government ignores that they are prisoners?

Where do they go
when their passports have been seized upon arrival
and the work camps have been abandoned?

Where do they go,
the sheiks, the queens, the very rich,
when it’s the poor who’re forced to paint the image?

Where do they go,
the names of common folk who built it
to the history books of corrupted kingdoms?

Why do we know
the name Khufu as the pharaoh who built Cheops
but not the names of countless laborers?

Where do we go
when faced with such threatening information,
and why do we continue building when forgotten?

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