Saturday, November 21, 2015

The Mine Manager

Despite another mile of toil up to her hearth,
Quite madly he drilled miles deeper into the earth,
Manufacturing mistakes beyond the ore’s line,
Indeed exceeding the limit of time and mine.

Then the accused workers for stealing stones “got bust”
The fake hard rocks crumbled fast to worthless dust.
Why not? The cavernous mountain had long been barren.
Traces of rivers dried up in winter were sunken.

So desperate was the whip the master unleashed.
Abraded skin, that resplendent rubies peeked,
Until the flesh beckoned and turned into pit,
Until the horse bearing his weight pranced and shrieked.

Laying down — her back writhing, limbs unfelt, eyes shut —
She drowned in slumber, a rarity in her hut.
Like other battered bodies and shaken spirits,
Never bending, never kneeling to dreadful dicks.

Meanwhile, the master, Madame Defarge and her whores —
Boldly feasted on the virgins’ blood and labours,
A post-revolution moment - fragile, fleeting,
Bacchus himself left an invitation hanging.

Hopeless it seemed, all omens foretold unfolding.
But no! Fate made her move, with the ground opening.
Amid the dirt, boulders of diamonds shone through,
On their bellies, with outstretched hands, disaster brewed.

As broken spirits floated away in their dreams,
The cavern’s roof just gave way to the bright hell’s beams.
As the dregs’ fingers touched the surface of the stones,
Maddened earth overtook time to devour their bones.

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