Lifeline
He
knows the effort it costs him
Feels
the ache of muscles
The
back-breaking work
Naked
and exhausted
Rock-cracking
and sifting
Lifting
loads in the heat, the filth and mud
To
find the tiny grains
Small
speckles of value
Sparkling
precious pieces
That
mean so much to him
Just
enough to exist, to eat, to carry on
Hunting,
scavenging, rat-like
In
a diabolic hell-hole
Deep
inside the Earth
A
dark world of danger
Among
the drills and dust
Crawling
through flooded shafts
To
reach a promising seam
Of
grit that holds the glitter of gold
And
the faintest gleam of hope
But
he cannot trace it any further
Transported,
transformed
Refined
and purified into heavy ingots
Which
sit, unused, in high-security rooms
Reserves
of national treasure
To
guarantee the currency
And
maintain suitable short supply
To
keep the prices high enough
Within
the global market
Nor
see it spun into delicate filaments
Its
decorative strands
Worked
by artistic hands
To
adorn elegant, well-heeled figures
Among
the wealthy and well-to-do
Who,
in a languid moment
May
reach out for their electronica
Slim-line
models in brushed-leather cases
To
access the latest features
And
communicate across the world
By
a finger’s touch
Perhaps
even to the darkest heart of Africa
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