The ground remembers where the riches sleep, Beneath the salt, the soil, the southern deep. Along the Orinoco, drills awake, As foreign hands reach in for what they take, Bartering crude beneath an open sky, While sovereign claims and old agreements sigh. Down where the cold Atlantic swells and breaks, A voice in Buenos Aires stirs the stakes— The winds of Malvinas, the contested foam, Warning the rigs that venture far from home. Across the border, high in mountain chill, The state steps in to tame the restless drill, Where queues for fuel beneath the Andean crest Demand an answer from an empire pressed. In halls of stone, the gavel loses sound; Brasília’s judges tread on fragile ground, Whispers unsealed that turn the court askew, As old reforms are promised for the new. And north, where swift Andean currents churn, A dam’s dark secrets slowly start to turn— A verdict read for power bought and sold, The river quiet, but the ledger told. From lithium white upon the desert floor To iron vessels anchored at the shore, The continent leans into wind and fire, Bound to the earth, the bargain, and desire.
