I dig the ground for the coins not hidden there

I search the open heavens for the symbol not visible

I groan amidst green buds cracking in the wind

as the sun beats the earth of a thousand souls


I yearn to chant old songs

recorded in my heart that’s desolate and bare

but I have lost my voice

in the bank, which shines but brings no warmth


I prowl, twinkling like shining orbs and incandescent gravestones

shivering like a despoiled flower in gold-warmed lands

without any glory at sundown

but a sombre song writ in blood


Death has cut hearts across like brown ants

I cannot help speaking of grief sounding forth

according to the beating of the drum of money

in a land rumbling with natural resources but not making a great nation