Pride And Prejudice In Petroleum Industry Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad A.Yousef

In the heart of the black gold fields,
where rusting pumps stand tall,
and the sun casts golden light
on fiery dreams and silent workers,
pride and prejudice swirl like the smoke
from flare stacks reaching for the sky.

Behind polished desks,
men and women in sharp suits,
calculate fortune and fate,
eager to decode the oil's heartbeat,
but beneath the surface, secrets linger,
quiet as the stones that cradle
the billions waiting just below.

The pride of towering rigs and endless profits
echoes through boardrooms and bars,
every handshake a promise,
every nod a scheme,
yet deep in the ground,
the truth twists and turns,
like oil beneath old rock.

Prejudice runs thick as crude,
tainting visions of the workers as they toil,
sweating beneath the sun's fierce glare,
their hands stained black,
dreams layered like the earth,
overlooked, underestimated,
seen through tinted glass.

The work is hard,
the hours long,
but still they gather,
bonded by the earth's pulse,
sharing stories that sink deeper
than any drill can reach—
of families, hopes, and futures.

And yet, the boardroom breeds distance,
with numbers sung like mantras,
but those who spend their days in the field
know nothing comes without a price.
Pride shuns the notion
that voices from below hold wisdom,
that dust can unveil value unseen.

Here, rivalry runs like fractured oil,
between giants and small hands,
and every claim a little too proud,
fueled by whispers of a past,
where those low down were underestimated,
while the suits look to distance themselves,
seeking glory in sterile pages and charts,
while the earth rises, heavy with stories.

In the shadows of giants,
it's easy to forget the ones
who turn the gears of industry,
the builders of dreams, the dreamers of hope,
who know the land intimately,
as the eyes of the past watch on,
the pride in their veins fading,
prejudice just as stubborn.

But here they stand,
beneath the weight of steel and ambition,
woven tightly by the threads of history,
waiting for the day,
when pride dissolves into shared ground,
and prejudice falls like old leaves,
leaving room for a garden once unseen,
where knowledge flows like oil
and every production line hums
with the strength of union,
with stories told and futures reborn.