Hoarse Whisperer Poem by Yohan Confectioner

You sit
in your fancy suit
and your fancy dress.

jump in delight
at your Gallow-ping horse
crossing the finish line,
huffing and puffing
after the
whipping and whacking.

you clap in its appreciation,
though your claps can't be heard
with the notes
stuck on your palms.

you told me you,
"loved to watch"
elegant creatures,
handsome as horses
glide in the wind.

but if pigs and deers and goats
filled those same palms
you would be here anyway.


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I have been affected by the death
of a horse
motionless on the maidan,
twitching,
as it relives its Life's finest memories:

Its owner, patting
its humble sacrificing head,
pockets heavier
in its victory.

It twitched,
and nibbled on the last
strands of grass
glued to its forfeited mouth

Its voice never heard.