tales from the animal farm

in herds we die,
battling fate
of a destitute
cry and more cry
sniffing blood
in the cage-hound

in herds we die,
by callous hands
that bow before man
seeking charity
to buy expensive knives,
slitting us pin-drop

in herds we die
gradually sometimes
eating fleas,
that come to visit
saving us from disgrace
of throwing up every meal

in herds we die
snorting faeces'
of brotherly love
as we huddle
to exchange sorrows
and sometimes sleep

in herds we die,
weeping in one corner
at the corpse,
of our comrade
cursing him who jabs
pain through sterilized needles

in herds we die,
jostling for space
in our wrongful notions
of mankind
they-who built us shelter
and forgot to build us home


in herds we die
at night and dawn
because life behind bars
drags like toothache
forever,
in dingy thoughts
of escape.

- a bunch of dogs