The Pranks Of France
We set up crocodile farms,
We harvest them, peel them live,
We rejoice and relish in our glut,
As nature would have it, the crocs got lose and feasted on us,
Muzzled we were witnessing the wrath of their might,
Weren’t we warned that mountains also implode?
When a cat is faced with death
And the line is drawn
Only a brainless feline would leave death unscathed
Now we stare at each other with the knowing eyes
Yet refuse to nod and mend our fault lines
How many hearses are lined on these narrow paths
And as we head to earthen these charred souls
Whose demise we crafted
The other crocs have just let loose
And as nature would have it again
The waters are channeled through these paths
Within which we are all confined
Betroth thyselves to the feast of the crocs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem