[SYNOPSIS: Many a times we notice- a dying cow, hurt birds, street dogs being beaten. I cant but help taking
sympathy for them. None seem to care for them. This poem
ventures to explore the basic question of why they are being
treated this way. And that they deserve a little care and
concern, least a descent death.]
Token of Humanity
A bird, a fledgling with broken wings,
happened to disturb my heart strings.
Hurt by the hell bent hands of a cannibal
sending out cries of pain in excrutiating decibels.
Dust mocking the blood oozing from its fleshy orifice
A scene that could make the hunter suffice
A small crowd gathered in its lassitude
Just to pull me out of my solitude
Sorry, they felt with faces intense
Which to me seemed a fretful pretense
The lone survivor of humanity, my soul in my being
couldn't tolerate any more seeing the forbidden thing
The value of life tried I to describe
to a crowd unwilling to anything humane imbibe
The thinking part in me ceased comparision
And I quickly passed by, but for the daparted soul
said a secret orison ...
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