I share with you all a poem before the year bids adieu. It came to me in one sitting and I hope you interpret it in multiple ways and that most importantly it speaks to you about the state of the world at large.


She grazed the heartland’s last stubble

of grass,

chewing the purple flowers,

swatting away flies with her tail

and taunting them for being

such hangers-on for life.

But she is calm,

has always been,

almost stubborn in her grandstanding

way of just observing life,

one day at a time.

That was until she found polythene,

her mortal enemy,

ingested with the crystalline pieces of


lying foul in her intestines,

like a snake in the grass.


There has to be a cursed reckoning,

a most ominous end for such a silent


a sort of predictive bovine tolerance

for inherent human cruelty

that its death incites such soul-

crushing grief,

for even casual bystanders.

It’s like a mother butchered by

midnight bandits,

taking away her fortunes of being,

with an assault on her senses.

One knife point,

blunting the language of


Until we realize the violence in words

and society’s silent auction of her


has always been a sting in our eyes.

Silent, the victim.

Silent, the bystander.




Every mother sits on the cow’s body,

as a child undisturbed by fate

or even as a Goddess in that image.

Until both lie submerged

in the rain-lashed lake,

on the face of a soulless ether,

split into iconographies of a shared


One held by the horns,

One to the manner born.


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