“Average US citizen consumes five times more meat and milk and twenty times more eggs than the inhabitant of Bolivia – miners are below national average; of every 2 children born in mining camps, one dies soon after opening his eyes. The other survivor will surely grow up to be a miner. And before he is thirty-five, he will have no lungs.”
“Tinplate is made from tin, and the tin is worth nothing : half a dozen people fix its global price. Most of the tin refined in the world is consumed in the US. What does the Bolivian miner’s bitter life matter to the consumer of preserves or the money-exchange manipulators?”
While surfing the shelves in the many malls, I read the above in a book presented to me. And I wondered, what if I were that miner! At age 30, what if I had to come here for a lung transplant?
And I listened to Bob Dylan’s …….
“Come senators, congressman
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the Hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’ …”
And I listened to the real, inner us ……
“Come , Friends and Foes, alight
Lets do things, ways apart, to delight
Let us be brave and conquer the fear of the ordinary
And continue the Frankenstein game of creating the extraordinary
A few guilty, among us, rolled the dice of “up there” Someone
A few creative, among us, want here to be that ONE
So we make laws, break vows, threaten Star Wars
All, to not do the routine, humanity abhors
So what if many routinely perish
For, then how will the few cherish?