I was teenager
When the winds blew
Over oilfields
With intensity:
Petrol price hiked.
Oil became gold,
Evern more dear.
Oil wasn’t found
Near my hometown;
My Crowned Father
Had no permission
From the neighbor
Explore oil
Near my abode.
In practice, though
It had been agreed
And understood
By near neighbors
And the far friends
Of my Crowned Dad’s
My abode stayed
Under-developed.
Where to develop,
How to develop,
What track to go,
And the goals to reach,
Were all determined
Solely on terms
Friends dictated.
Oil had been dug
In our rich lands
Somewhere in the south
Some decades before;
By some foreigners:
Colonialists,
Who ruled the globe
For their interests
And material gains.
And thus it had caused
Many, many pains
Bitter strife.
Its influence
And its deepest pangs
Those days had surfaced.
Oil brought home
In very short time
Riches and money,
Unheard of, indeed,
To ruling elites
And their life-style
And their entourage
And far-off friends.
For us as masses,
It brought along
Sickening fumes,
And disgusting scents,
Of power and wealth,
And social changes;
Consecutive shocks,
Many crises.
Oil was burning
Somewhere very far;
Continents away,
In the lucky lands
Of Daddy’s friends’.
It was giving warmth
To every aspect
Of their lovely life:
Moving it ahead
Like a space ship
From low levels
To higher spots.
Because of that use
And its energy,
Our life was ruined:
Result of their wealth
Became like smoke,
That moved like clouds,
All the way to us
Like a living thing
On seeking journey
Of its origin.
We asked the smoke
To leave our skies,
Our green fields;
To leave us alone
With our own life.
We begged earnestly.
Pleaded with saints.
And cried aloud:
“O Black Clouds;
Sickening Smoke;
Hear our voice.
Look at our gestures.
We need the moonlight,
And clear skies,
Clean springs.
We want see stars.”
But smoke was deaf,
And also blind.
It couldn’t see us
Crying for light
And clear sunshine.
We were never heard,
As it was a norm.
They showed no respect
Even for the saints.
That was the reason
Plague descended
Upon green fields,
On our orchards,
Upon big cattle,
Also on the lambs,
Huge herds of goats.
Fountains dried out.
Streams stopped.
Forests became fields,
Without spirit,
Unproductive.
Life-style that was
Always a relief,
Became a burnden
Upon our shoulder.
