The jungle’s heart they say where,
Lies earth’s treasure, valuable and rare.
Savannahs do border the place for sure,
Housing the precious, the supreme, the pure.
Some would say , are sure stones,
Hard pieces sustaining hammer’s injury.
Age old diamonds, sparkles they shown,
Invaluable they be, all do agree.
Dark, humid and dusty lanes,
Full of miners, stones and cranes,
Herculean tasks fulfilled each day,
Well above their duly pay.
Digging along earth’s enduring crust,
They do encounter suffocating dust.
Toiling in heat, boiling their brains,
No choice they have than suffering the pains.
Months to years to decades together,
Breathing the dust filled air,
Withered fibrils, the Asbestos rather,
Would make sure no one is spared.
Breathless, coughing, debilitated state,
Would come upon duly at a progressive rate.
Eyes of the doctor scanning the film,
Shall see diamond like plaques on the lung’s rim.
Strenuous work shall finally yield,
Pebble like pieces of high creed,
Dark, laborious, trusted hands,
Palms filled with shiny sands.
Unrefined they are, pieces of the ore,
Sprouting from under the earth’s deep core.
Under the hammer and chisel they say,
Metamorphosis occurs, improving their display.
Some would journey to unknown lands,
Like the Hope, the Kohinoor; earthly stars,
Some would find themselves in the hands,
Of the Queen, the Nobles, the wealthy Czars.
And life shall tread at the usual pace,
For men like these of arduous race,
Under the sky with twinkling diamonds,
Calling upon them to break their chains.
For when death shall finally come upon these,
Shackles would be gone, sustaining peace,
The earth shall cover their mortal parts,
Giving due respect to their wounds and scars.
On neck, on hand, on head be worn,
The rich, the mighty shall adorn,
These shimmering pieces of pride in vain,
The essence of suffering and remarkable pain.
Written by Aishwarya Sharma