Social Justice Poetry

Christos Tsagkaris

Human – Miners | A Social Justice Poem by Christos Tsagkaris

I’ll tell you the story of a place.
A place full of trees, winds, water, lovely villages and people
I’ll tell you the story of a place which is a part of history and from which Life blossoms.

Every place is a sculpture.
Over the land, the mountain picks the trees on their shoulders.
Between the green shadows of the forest, bears, wolves, lamps and birds enlighten the day.
The rivers are the veins of Earth transferring the mountains’ blood.
The birds – a colorful cloud – are the messengers of Earth heading to the paths of Universe.
People live there. They cultivate the lands and vitalize our story.
People collaborate with their land. People live conciliated with nature.
People bless the Nature and the Nature blesses their works.

In the bowels of Earth, beneath the mountains’ skin, you can find the still and bright river.
The natural good that brings riches but at the same time the element that helps hatred to grow.
And you can see an army of camions and workers coming from the big town. And you can see an entire army surrounding our place and our people…

Gold – miners.
Pirates that seek the riches of our lands.
The sound of the machine is their voice.
Their hands are transformed into a mechanical spade.
And now, you can see them.
Ready to sacrifice nature in honor of their bosses.
Ready to sacrifice our people “ad maiorem gloriam*” of their profit.
People, trees and animals are lead to exile away from their houses, away from their land, away of memory, away of an entire life…
And all these happen with the official blessing of the State, with the power vested in money.

This is it, gentlemen!
People exiled. Demonstrators imprisoned. Ruined villages and ashes of trees.

This is it, gentlemen!
The green body of earth full of grey wounds and blazing fires.
The blessed face of Nature, intoxicated with tones of rubbish and chemical elements.

This is it, gentlemen!
This is the end of History. This is the end of Nature. This is the end of Memory.
This is the end of Man provoked by Man himself.

This is it, gentlemen!
The starving face of poverty arises against the lively face of sun.
Gold – miners. Businessmen – priests of Profit.
Gold -miners. Human – miners…