Money grows on trees

“Money grows on trees in America,” many of us think so.
So, be sure, you’re not wrong. 
Plant the seeds of your dream silently: 
America has trees that grow monies 
Like a grove of mango trees heavy with ripe mangoes 
And being dropped all over the ground uneaten, abandoned, and unpleasant.
Enter America with a large sack of heart.
Contemplate while on a plane
To amass all the monies, some to be sent to Rame, your friend
Some to Shyame, your relative, and the rest to your parents and wife if you have,
To plot land at different places and build a dream like house,
To hand, when you go back to Nepal, each of them you care about a piece of gold. 
Wow, what a joy! 
Now, close your eyes, and you will see all their smiles reaching out to their ears. 
Indeed, the money grows here, but not on the trees you thought of, 
But on the trees of labor that need to be mulched with sweat.
No sooner the money grows on the tree of labor, its buds go toward the paying bills.
Here, a penny, smaller than a dime grows, and, that too,
Go into the deepest pocket of a zipped wallet.
When a penny is deposited in your bank account, 
you start receiving offers from every directions:
“This is credit Card speaking,” “This is Cable Speaking,” 
“This is Life Insurance speaking,” “This is dealership speaking,” 
“This is real estate agent speaking”…………
The offer from here; the offer from there 
And you remain like an empty sack of grain.
Your private dreams disappear! 
And there begins your American dream
For which you put your emotions behind bars, 
And you seal an imaginary paper of uncertain future 
In which you are not sure whether you are happy;
And you wait with a blanket of illusion wrapped around 
While turning the pages of the Nepali calendar that 
Takes you to the pages of festivals and past memories 
That you stare with your eyes water filled. 
The sack of your heart will never be filled in the way you thought.
Trust me, 
Those who plant the seeds of labor can fill the sack of heart in their own country!

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