The nameless

"You of artless origins,
are whittled off apes;
black like coal, dirty
like pigs and dull like the night.
 You are the least desirable;
you have no names.
Ayahs, Chowkidars--
you will be called.
The Iron earrings, stone necklaces,
will show you where you belong--
by an outhouse near palaces of divine men.
Your bare chest will suffer the sun; your hands
belong to the shovel;
Your words will be menses,
your breath  will reek rank;
and your food will be putrid flesh.
Immutable facts as they are,
my conscience will be clean.
However much you change it,
the world will be as it is.
So, why blame me?"