The bunch of them roam carefree,
oblivious of the life that is bustling outside,
thinking of only, how to enjoy the next moment.
They laze around in an air-conditioned room,
while tanned labourers sweat and toil outside,
building sky-scrapers that they cannot dream of owning.
The bunch of them enjoy a lazy afternoon,
overhearing grandma gossip over the daily soap,
while the servant maid pretends to clean and scrub.
Until, the master of the house appears that evening,
and sees them through the corner of his eye.
And fumes, at the maid, the grandma, and the Recession.
For he spots, that dirty bunch roaming around carefree,
That bunch of hair, in the corner of the house.