Poverty is my Identity

I work and work till my hands get sore,
My back breaks and my neck aches.
In the end, all we get is one meal a day.
Don’t act surprised, you know this is our way.

Oh, come to our slum and see.
We don’t have the luxury to go on a debate spree.
Upper caste, lower caste, rules are for fools.
When we pass the bricks, nobody cares who’s touching who.
You say, I can’t go to temple on my period!
Then who’s gonna listen to my agony, you serious?

I hear about this virus killing everybody.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just let it take me.
Then I see the face of my little girl studying.
Her friends already quit school and started working.
My only prayer to God is for her to build her own life.
What we do is merely survive, we want her to live.

Voter Card, Ration Card, Aadhar Card, you ask me for address?
How do I tell the Government, we don’t have one and it’s a mess!
It’s a pity that I don’t and can’t even use my right to vote.
It would mean a day of no food down my kid’s throat.
And as if, in all these years, our fate was ever rewrote.

You ask what my Caste is,
Poverty is my Caste.
You ask what my Gender is,
Poverty is my Gender.
You ask what my Identity is,
Poverty is my Identity.