Notes About The Poem
Written 25 June 2026 for This of That-Vol 39 Poetry Contest sponsored by Edward Ibey
Syllable Count checked on howmanysyllables,cm>syllable_counter
The Race for Hollow Gold
At outset of the nineteenth century,
A whisper spanned with tasteful treachery
Amidst souls in India, born of old,
Of treasures under boulders, crude pure gold,
Hidden in the island of Ile de France,
Baptised Mauritius in a silent glance.
It stirred many greedy hearts with quick fire,
Fed by the dream of glowing fierce desire,
To race and sign as indentured workers
And be seen as bold-faced adventurers,
Propelled by the golden dreams to explore
And realise the chants of ancient lore.
In beastly state, they crossed the dreary sea
In weather-battered ships, humming a plea
To the open sky to land them ashore
Safe, that they might pursue their dreams yet more;
The hopeful brave, with courage as their guide,
Spoke of caves where pirate`s treasures did hide.
Some claimed to see, in visions bright and bold,
The glowing gleam of that elusive gold,
A phantom light, that flickered, then faded,
Through shadowed vales and sunlit, forest glades;
Diverse shades of thoughts clashed, vibrant and keen,
Each depicting the ultimate unseen.
At long last, they landed in slave-like state
And were hurled in long camps aground to wait;
The next day, after their registration,
They were led to fields, their destination,
To remove huge boulders, deep from the soil,
Heap them as hills, then plant canes as their toil.
They toiled tall hours under the scorching sun,
With no sign of gold on the horizon,
They toiled for a humble meagre pittance
And were greeted with whips for resistance,
A story told for long generations,
Stirring sad streams of tearful emotions.
Days succeeded the nights and night the days,
But no single sign of gold on the way,
The days grew long, the journey wore them thin,
Where hopes had once begun, dark doubts crept in;
They wondered if it`s was myth to deceive,
Or a foolish chase, no one could achieve.
Reflecting on their fate, with a voice grim,
About treasures sought on a fragile limb,
It turns out greed can blind, drive souls astray,
Lead a whisper, to ruin on its way
Gullible lives, held under its deep spell,
A silent call emerging from a well.
Perhaps the gold lay not within the earth,
But in the journey and its vital worth,
The strength simmering in the silent souls,
The bonds that shaped to make their spirit whole,
Prompting them to climb, rungs of the ladder,
Slowly to take the governing rudder.
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