They dig
With sweat beads
Of heavy piks
And broad shovels
Falling along the tarred roads
Of northern skies
A sea of sweat
Drowning the false shadows
Of infinite poverty
They dig
For their ulceric stomachs
Of acids burning swallowed
Dreams and foreign hopes
Of “a bass met ‘n goie hart”
Who will by day end
Give them bus fare
They dig
On the lookout
For liberty
The freedom that’s
Spoken of on their
Wirelesses and televisions
That will with any luck
Reach them before they
Start digging their graves
You know I've always loved this poem.I still have the newspaper cliping...
This brought a tear to my eye... very emotional, like your choice of words.... i'll never forget this poem, it touched me to the heart
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this left me speechless, it's deep and i dig it (excuse the pun)