Once in a while does that treasure open up,
to the amusement of the folks, eyes dismayed suddenly brightens;
mouths full o' awe, escaping numerous gulpps,
as they all wish, could it be his; the lil' boy jumps, while the old man bends,
to peep a lil' to take in some more,
their hands reaching out - as in a competition, it seems- who shall be the first, who last?
They never give up, never seem bored,
Why they be? With treasure in front, eyes all set upon,
just a lil' more toil they need, hands hovering about in the crowd, so swift, so fast.
Yet nobody cares about the weariness, tensions
they have to burden themselves with;
Only caring 'bout the immateriality, the gain, pensions
No matter whether again they are sure they would be ever able to live a life,
or even if alive, would it be a lfe of death;
Whether it'd be another one of those depressing fables..
And that lil' boy then in lure,
now cries, screams, pukes about-
there can obviously be no cure,
'Gold' not escaping his tiny mouth!!
He learns the language, has' surely it defaced the naturality,
emotions of love, care, brotherhood - no longer present..
forgetting morality, as he takes to criminality,
with profound grief we cry, over the sad fact, "No longer is he decent!"
his old grandpa, the one who had bent once in front of it,
now bends further, his wrinkles wrinkling further,
both due to age and now more due to the sight,
to see his own children, grandchildren neglect their father, grandfather;
'cz to all, 'treasure' is their staple food,
for values, they have all forgotten their roots...
