The man who dug deep

I dig and I dig – I dig the mud deep, ever so deep –
I have dug all my life, and will dig some more;
I know not what I will find in this hole, nor care –
All I know is, I have to dig, I have to dig some more.
So much digging, so much hole, so much darkness
But it is not for me to question, and I dig some more;
I dig, for they say, Gods love those who dig –
I trust them, for they know, and get on with my chore.
Deep in the hole, with artificial light and wet silence
Where the heart aches and the hands are sore,
I dug with my nails till they broke, and with my fingers
That are hard and blistered and not sweet anymore.
I dig the dirt, and break the stones to dirt –
I remove all obstacles, that I may dig some more;
It is not a grave that I dig, nor for the gold –
I dig beyond the graves and the gold, I dig for something more.
Fading memories of a child, and a gentle smile –
For them, though they know not, I dug, and shall dig some more;
I never looked back, or heeded the calls from afar –
I know I have to dig for them, and I dig some more.
Lonely and old, lonely and ill, I dig;
There is nothing else to do, nothing, any more;
Too late, it is much too late to ask why I dig –
Leave me alone, that I may dig some more.

About Abhishek

I will let the blog speak for itself...or, at times, for me. View all posts by Abhishek

3 responses to “The man who dug deep

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