As my years roll by I more and more go over my past thoughts and deeds and I think, yes, I could have done more, I could have perhaps tried harder in some cases, I could have done it differently. However, deeds that have been done, have been done, but can still be used as lessons for tomorrow, but there are some thoughts that have never changed, one in particular is that thought I have always harboured, of pride in being one of that great mass of people, who I believe will one day inherit the world, and transform it into a world that is built on justice, mutual aid, sustainability and respect for each other, a world that sees to all our people's needs and has catalogued war and capitalism as a long past history of humanity's darkest hour.
I’m Proud
I’m proud of my people, proud to be one of them,
that great mass on society’s bottom rung.
Those who, with coal-dust under their nails
in their eyes, in their lungs
claw at the earths entrails.
Their brothers,
cement in their hair
in their mouth, in their ears,
oil ingrained in their fingers,
on their face.
Sisters, glistening with sweat
midst the ceaseless noise of machines
that throw out shirts, shoes, toys, carpets
for other people.
Those with soil and sweat stuck to their skin
smelling of the earth, feeding the multitude,
grinding out their lives in a harsh pitiless system
weighted down
with a sack load of half-dead dreams,
sometimes brought to their knees
by a tidal wave of despair,
never defeated,
groping in the dark to find tomorrow,
keeping hope alive;
they amaze me.
Somehow, from somewhere
in this cold, cruel
unforgiving scheme of things
they find love for their children.
Not a teaspoonful, not a cupful,
but buckets full, to bathe them in,
to pour over them.
They seem to know
that one day this world will be ours
and to take care of it
we will need those who have been loved.
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