It is a common scene in these parts to see lorry loads of cattle being finally packed off in the following manner to reach the hands of a butcher. Is it not a sin to squeeze out their sweat and blood in this manner? When are we going to get out of our selfish motives? <br />******************************************************************************* <br /> <br />In a truck, in a heap, <br />It is a silent march unto death. <br />They are dispatched to unknown shores, <br />They are within twilight zones. <br /> <br />They are packed, they are marked. <br />They are squeezed, their life ransacked. <br />Away from the meads and gentle streams <br />Unto sky, it is a tacit scream. <br /> <br />Silent are their eyes, <br />Violent is our vanquishing world. <br />And these quadrupeds in a few hours <br />Finally meet a butcher’s dagger. <br /> <br />Soon they fill our palate, <br />Over is the long, losing battle. <br />Teeth and fork enter a long clatter, <br />A chapter closes behind a clamorous laughter. <br /> <br />Where are our whispering brooks? <br />Where are our patting hands? <br />Their milk is our very blood, <br />But in return, we draw their blood.<br /><br />Ravi Panamanna<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-unkindest-cut-of-all/
