Crude Oil

Everyone born and borne
On the tail of the fifties
Had a silver spoon in his mouth;
The water flowed freely from the wells
That stride the land
Where the strangers fetch more
The little reserve for the peoplewithiut
Is the liquid we used to swallow
The silver spoon like a pillthat
Pains the throat now.
What can we do without the liquid gold
That symbol of our wellbeing;
The causal factor of our war of identity
To own the wells and be not
Our brother’s keepers
We fought gallantly
We fought crudely for the crude oil
In a battle won only where sadness
Was the only victory that came out
Of the muzzle of our guns.
O’ this crude thing
That makes everything crooked
Whispers a loud sound heard
Only by a few;
Sharpens the throat for greed
Make hidden vaults for stealing
Stamp a foot on our chessboard
Make hunger glue our stomachs
To our spines
Making us docile, pliable, amendable
Totally loyal.
Still we relish only drops
From the copious flow
On benbed knees we pray for what
We ought to give thanks
If we can not crush this bug
With the marrow of our hunger
We will be condemned beyond
By this raging wind.