The Chaturale Challenge

The head rumbles, the stomach grumbles, the muscles roar,
The worker fumbles, the pick tumbles, the tears pour.
As the sun gets higher his hole becomes an oven,
He needs a shower, a night’s sleep and some lovin’.

Each day he wakes a little weaker than the last,
Still distracted by the nocturnal battle with his past.
With each swing, a pain cedes, replaced by another,
A more fierce and nasty version of its brother.

The sun is set, his quota met, the day is done,
With no regret, he’ll soon forget, all but the fun.
Despite the hard work his mood is light,
Long ago his body gave up the fight,

But it’s the earth and not his spirit that will be broken.

Written Jan 2008, volunteering in a rural village in Nepal.