A poem of flesh and blood
A SCENE FROM A CHICKEN CENTRE. IF ALL THESE HELPLESS CREATURES BEGAN TO SPEAK.........
The grills are open
and we are free to escape.
The skies are open
and we are free on our wings.
But we are flightless,
we are on the passage of twilight.
Squeals from behind shatter our dreams,
our friends are strangled to death.
An escape is a vain attempt;
we are living within a tempest.
The butcher's knife is on the go
and the imminent truth is very plain.
Any moment the curtains could be drawn,
we are already in the waiting list.
No more moments are glorious for us,
no more dawns are in our reserve.
The buyer's choice finally bangs our doors,
our flesh is measured, price fixed.
A squeal and a breathless moment...,
Our life is drawn by the hungry world.
Ravi Panamanna's Other Poems
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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