The workers go on a hunger strike in front of the factory.
They demand a bonus for the coming Christmas season.
The proprietor is a wicked stingy soul who makes a big profit margin in the factory by producing special condoms against AIDS?
He never increased a penny of their salaries so far.
He bribed the police and in this horrible wintry night I see a mass of crowd the strikers’ families far away with hurricane lamps.
It looks like a serenade.
Poor sons of the strikers’ who bring catapults and stones with them made out of their fathers’ old jockstraps and pelt the guards?
Really it’s a drizzle to these corrupted police officers who were drunk?
nimal dunuhinga
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-hunger-strike/
