(14-2-1957 / Tamilnadu, India)

Sonnet: The Poor Lamb

I eat the grass that grows in the meadow;
I jump and play with joy after a drink;
I walk back home when comes the Eve’s shadow;
Death’s shadow lurks on me always, I think.

Warm clothes men make with my hide for winter;
My wool keeps them so warm in intense cold;
They walk me to the house where they slaughter,
And no one cares if I am young or old.

I say ‘baa-baa’ to call my dear mother;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ when I feed on the grass;
I say ‘baa-baa’ when ’tis rainy weather;
I cry ‘baa-baa’ seeing my master’s lass.

When I am born to die, giving them meat,
Why torture ’fore you earthlings can me eat?

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