Sheep underneath the skin of a lion
Yet, we wear an aura of conceit
Around our neck,
Like mane, and think
We carry armaments in vigour
Deltoids broaden, biceps puff up
It’s our jungle to rule, after all.
We have sharp claws and
We wear a shimmering grin,
That suits us
We like to believe.
We set out for a kill
Target easy preys
Nails come out from
From the joy of pounding on soft flesh.
Free spirit are to be tamed,
Squashed at our feet, and
As we write our rules,
Like that parting of hair on their forehead
Of whom, we set out to conquer
And our mane flutters in soft wind.
When I was coming back from London last night in a train, a discarded evening newspaper caught my attention. There was a big news where a renowned British photographer Hazel Thompson has revealed after a decade of research that in Mumbai how girls from 11 years of age are locked up in cages without food, water or light, till they break and open up to prostitution. The actual article can be found here online.
I am a proud father of a beautiful girl now. My sister is entering the new phase of marital bliss tomorrow. I don’t know where to hide my face today. This is my small note to the cruel world in protest and shame. I am linking this poem to dversepoets OpenLinkNight 126 so that my word of protest reaches a wider audience.