Poem: The Labourer

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With this curved spine,
In journey with this world
The echoes of my soul
the existence and its burden
Hear I all day the whispers
the crunching bones
against each other,
As the very fabric
begins to crumble
I am the labourer,
The powder I have become
the dust and its movement
In celebration my pain,
in celebration my work
far away,
removed from the world,
The blisters upon my feet,
the fingers and its skin,
I was born BEAUTIFUL
As look upon my self
only the dust
I see, only the scars and its pain
the blackened existence

I am the song of your revolutions
I am the silent whisper
in your thoughts,
I carry this weight
upon my shoulders, upon my head
in revolt,
All my body and all its tissues
I am the muse to your movements
I am the beauty you paint,
I am the lectures you deliver
I am that famous painting
that hangs in your galleries
Untouched, unheard, in silence
I am the speeches you deliver
I am the river you speak of
I am the ocean you dive into
All there but me,
I am the exodus you never heard
I am the labourer
somewhere in your dead conscience

I am the labourer
in this world of greed and commerce
the only hope, the only dream
this will end here, my sacrifice
my children will not meet this fate,
upon these roads, I walk
Upon these roads,
i surrender my dignity
in this dust,
i surrender my pride,
Just me, this pain will not travel further
upon my children and their generations
The old promise my father made
Our days is 365 days long and nights
only fleeting moments in capture

I am your labourer,
Each year
you celebrate in your words
with vigor and passion
In your poems,
the emotions and its river
But cold this existence
the death you inflicted
Look me in the eye,
the ghostly eyes
All sponged out,
my youth and its innocence
My days of school
sacrificed in its heat
In protest
my whole existence against me,
with cuts and its bruises, upon my back
hidden away all its pain in its dust
the squalor of my existence and nights
you see me in your farms,
you see in your homes,
you see me upon your roads,
All around you see me
all day and yet in celebration just one.

I am your labouer in all ages
In your streets, an old man and woman
the young in your existence
As you drive past,
Just shadows we are,
Shadows that grow larger and diminish
at their own will
I am in all ages at your disposal
I am the labourer of this world,
But only in this world,
I will let you know
Only in this world you have me
The hereafter is all mine
I know the promise made to me
It’s there in inscription,
It’s there in its voices
I hear the angels with me
By my Creator, By my Creator
The hereafter is all mine.
It’s all mine
The heavens of this Universe and beyond
It’s all mine.