I Walk Like I've Got Oil Wells, Pumping In My Living Room

a poem by Raghunandan Ram, India

One morning my friend said,
I see clouds floating over head,
Rivers in spate overflowing tears;
Roaring thunders sparking fears,
Storms in heart & tremors in mind
& flashing on frowns of unfair kind
I feel oppressed & depressed in curses,
Dread of deficiencies & differences.
How do you walk on the road of blows?
& light the lamp in darkness of sorrows:
Some borrowed from the ancestors,
Some donated by the contractors,
& the rest from circumstantial factors
And yet you look funny and friendly.

All divisions of sexes, races & riches,
All oppressions of injustices,
Tyranny, terror & exploitation
And all stages of deprivation,
Are frowns of have & holders
To revel in tearing the weak folders
To leave them defiled and repent
In a life of shame to dark extent.

My friend! Know your own,
You suffer as you drown your own
Apply your own to see life worth living,
I have will, vision, vigour and bearing
To refute offsets of riches stored in vain
With a spade of happiness of what I have
I have dug wells of faith & satisfaction
To pump oils of love and oneness,
Understanding, co-operation and pity
To light the lamp & drive darkness,
Ignorance, deficiencies & all differences;
I am now not a poor man to leave myself,
Crying, starving, despairing and dying.

Bear no more to hell the world,
Bear no more to curse yourself,
You have strong sinew of will,
Jollity to barter in friends,
Caring of own, caring to others,
Decree of desires to live & let live
And the faith in your worth:
We are not frail, weak and vain.
We are rich, immensely rich in our den.
Let every house have oil wells of wills,
Pumping joy in each living room.

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