There was a movie: Once upon a time,
It said. And the scene opened beautifully.
It is about illegal mining, how the locals
Don’t care about the law. This is a documentary.
The lecturer owned the letters on the blackboard;
In crisp, immaculate white polo he translated them to us.
Seating in rows, young people listen
To the ecological talk. Leaves rustle in the wind
Outside the cramped house.
Illegal mining was prevalent, one can literally see
The figures: only count the number of people
Sneaking out at night, hiding behind and emerging
From one or two gigantic bulldozers sleeping.
I loosened the tie of a red balloon
In the shape of a heart obstructing my view
Of the blackboard and the lecturer, hoping
That my sigh doesn’t reach the napes
Of the two students in front of us,
And lean on your shoulder.
I wish you were the lecturer. Adult,
All grown up, exposed to the real world,
Veiled by sacred white linen.
Earning a living entails for the locals
Doing little in the morning.
They go out of their nests and try to find worms
In cemented roads commissioned by the government.
What can they do? There is not enough opportunities
For all of them. Yet they must pretend like you and I.
Pretend until it’s nightfall and go to where treasure lies.
In the park in the movie,
Rows of peasants gather crumbs at the feet of a lone man.
He mediates between them and the bakery, just as crumbs
Are mediated to bread with medium pieces navigated by a hand.
The lecturer said because of the locals’ hardship,
It continues.
There is a bicycle wheel in the park, continuously moving
Onward. It is the unbreakable cycle of poverty,
He said. The way things go, the only path to take.
It was a documentary, factual, unlike movies.
He said the teenagers of the mining town sought solace
In one another and that was why the population
Continued to rise while their standard of living didn’t.
Peasants ought to love their benefactor, feed
Themselves before multiplying.
I wish you were him, able, as if, to multiply the bread;
To find worms in cement.
But you are wearing cotton, white that turned to black.
I was told by him to avoid you, and that I did good
Removing the balloon you gave me. If only I didn’t
Lean on you, he said. White, he interpreted, was pure,
But I was sure his monument erected.
Locals scavenged for what little they could get. The
Government said they’d earn more if they work for them in the cities,
Studying for employment, being handed down facts
Deciphered for them, learning laws that say
It’s the government who funded paved roads.
Again I wish you were him, become a lawyer, earn some
Respect that is so scarce nowadays.
Tell him what he says isn’t a documentary
But well-structured ill propaganda, and preach.