Monday, October 01, 2012

The Scent of Iron ore

This is an imaginative first person account of a Goan miner from the 60s, who then becomes the master of the trade after 40 years.

Dig, buy, sell,
dig all the magnets
from my well
Steal the deal,
then seal to conceal
all the magnets
and their ores.

Arm all the men,
chop all their hands,
hands that till
could still fulfill
the dream
of living beside the seashore
of an ocean of iron ore.

Trees they are,
not stars,
they will grow again,
but you must go far,
dig the mountains
the ore is for the living
death is for fools.

Oh! the scent of blood.