A Dusty Mine

Amidst the foliage that governs the Raiganj locals,

Guarded in its own right, a colliery of wonders,

Far from the malls and the reckless wandering crowd,

A heaven in summer as the eraser of many frowns.

Amir was a man who was born nearby.

His destiny fostered him, singing him a colliery lullaby.

He knew just how to use a spade,

“Thank God, I was born to rule over them”, somewhere nearby as a manager exclaimed.

So, his fate twinkled when he got the call.

His mother cooked a hilsa that was older than the Nawabs of Bengal.

With a smile that can gorge the Ganges in itself,

He joined the colliery, as another manual help.

Days passed, but in his life twilight blinked.

Poor old Amir eroded the coals with his sweat.

As his lungs puffed the dust, far he could hear a F

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iat screech-

“Goodness me! Have I made 30 million!” he heard his manager say.

He checked his lungi and found a Rs. 10 entangled in it.

In what multiples, he thought do 30 millions yield.

Lousy, am I not, confided the bad mathematician in himself.

With spade again, as he dug smoke for his lung’s grave.

Bestowed with a light that could only show him his path,

He saw something unusual that didn’t befriend the impure dust.

His anonymity to it said, nevertheless in knowledge he was deprived

But three diamonds he could identify, beneath that petty dust.

A decade later as the Emirates descended,

A Toyota summoned Sheikh Amir to The Amir’s Coal Limited,

A deep voice introduced him to the Coal corporates.

Yes, he sold the company to spade lung cancer out of his son, Abdel.