A Woman in the Cotton Field
One woman in the field –
Looks like she’s been forgotten.
Her hopes and dreams are spilled
Over dusty cotton.
The cotton’s like her hair;
She bends, then picks and speaks —
Words in the air,
Hot tears down her cheeks.
“Fifteen cents per kilo:
I’ll earn a sack of money!
Will make a lavish wedding
For my dear sonny.
Let him only come!
Or is Russia far?
Does she not stop migrant
Workers from heading home?”
Nearby,
along the road
A giant white light board
With the current president’s
Smiling, happy photo
and his election motto:
“Each and Every Person
is Our Supreme Value!”
A slow voice in her throat
Like the lamb so mild,
(The woman likes the Value!):
“Take my breathe and vote,
But bring me back my child…
Can you?”
One Woman in the Field…
###
My Name is Uzbekistan
I feel sorry for my motherland:
Where everyone – government or private –
Waits for the order of one voice
to breathe,
Where youth draw the picture of a plane,
Where women and men
in the crowded daily labor market
seek for employers
to earn their piece of bread,
Where people discuss
house construction, short socks
and pompous weddings,
Where creative minds are half dead,
Where there isn’t any international
poetry festival,
artist’s residency
or PEN,
Where deputies, mayors and the rest
Are caught over
bribery and lust
by Mr Truth who also reports
to the same one voice:
The deadlock.
You might say it’s everywhere
but I am not everywhere
My soul resides and my tomb will be here.
I play with the words:
I wish they were not Ooze
But Big,
Embracing a Ton of Kisses –
Ooze-big-kiss-ton!
After all –
My name is rich
My name is Uzbekistan
and I wish I never felt sorry for myself!
(Steve Rushton is the organzier of the VENT Festival in UK)
