A distant beast bellows with pangs and aches.
He draws nearer and nearer to the prey.
It must be done.
We don't philosophize here.
Crawling ahead on well balanced limbs,
His claws then reach for the victim of circumstance.
He is not judgmental in his choice.
He is judicious in his ways.
The real world is mean.
Its mess is fowl and unclean.
But don't take it personally to heart,
Lest fate be assigned a grudge of mal-intent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice poem with theme you brought here so nice of you and the concluding....Lest fate be assigned a grudge of mal-intent.