It has only been seven sunsets since we welcomed the new month.
Our waiting is still young,and our faces have become long.
Our hearts are heavy with fears, our minds with cares and eyes are reddish with tears,
Doors are banging loudly with creditors lurking on the other side.
In our feast of hunger, tables are full of plates but empty of bread
full of cups but empty of wine
Plates are begging for bones and cups are begging for droplets
Husbands wear straight faces as they head out for work.
They walk in the air so wives won’t find voice to ask for money.
Except it grows on trees or found in cows’ breasts shall we eat three times a day.
We await such time the month closes its eyes and our purse again will swell with coins in it.
Each night we kneel to pray; it’s for God to keep our health till master opens his treasury and pays us according to our works. Ten pounds for every land cleared.
Then we’d have enough to give the physician if baby falls ill.
Some have died already because they were ill on days the month was still tender.
Here comes the day the Lord has made.
When our wages will be counted and placed in our hands.
Our shoulders are high up in the skies suffering from little pride.
The month is bidding us farewell.
I will rejoice and be glad in the day laborers are paid.
The day I look the eyeball of the one who leased his house to me.
In my belly are the drummers,
beside all the singers.
Singing for all the dancers.
I will beat drums for the drummers
Sing songs for the singers
And dance all day long for the dancers
Everyone shall be at my great feast.
I’ll spin and scream in ecstasy, smile abundantly for my joy has come.
I’ll give to all beggars I see. One dollar for each finger stretched towards me.
When the sun sets and I am headed home, I’ll pray my son doesn’t get the flu.
And that daughter is healed of her fever.
Cos what we’d have put in the barn for the raining day
are in the pockets of the drummers, in the purse of the dancers and of the ones who sell liquor.
My joy for the month has come and gone.
I will again count seconds, wait minutes, hours and days till the new month fades away
…and master gathers us all again to pay ten cents for every hour of work done.
At his day thou shalt give him his hire, neither shall the sun go down upon it; for he is poor, and setteth his heart upon it: lest he cry against thee unto the LORD, and it be sin unto thee.