When I was small, I was satisfied with the money I had,
I could buy so many kinds of candies with one dollar at that time.
Lollypops that I can lick and suck on for hours,
chocolate fudges that left my lips dirty and fingers sticky,
vanilla ice creams that melted wonderfully in my mouth,
with the taste of milk in it.
Time shifts, I age, and I outgrow my desire.
I feel the greed of gold, burning inside me.
The weight of shillings,
the colour of notes,
the lustre of platinum credit cards.
And the climbing numbers in the bank account,
excites me more than anything else.
The final moment is near,
Death is sending me invitation letters
I withdraw all my money, change it into pure gold blocks.
Piling them on the marble floor of my mansion,
a little mountain of gold is formed.
There I looked at my sweet riches, as pretty as the ‘precious’ in Gollum’s eye,
I climb into the golden mountain and curl inside it,
like a dragon sleeping on its spoils of war.
There I sleep, with a final smile etched on my wrinkled face,
in my cold cemetery.
Copyright © Deric Jem