I am a “Slum Dog”
No freedom to wail my midnight sorrows
No collar round my neck
A mark of respect or a sense of belonging
But sure, a band of indentured labor
With drooping ears and downcast eyes
My tail, never in a perfect coil
Tucked between hind legs
I move back and forth as I watch
I play an unpaid watchman
I am the prince of the night
Though pauper of the day
I brush along the dirty walls
Scanning the urine streaks of man machines
And co-exit with my ‘big black brother’
Together, we win battles over bins
Victory shares us by turns
My existence waits on municipal tables
To dub me mad and dispense with
My life is measured between
A bit of life and a bite of death
The fatal stroke of a pen or a club,
A rear wheel of a drunken driver
Decides my inevitable day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good penning- all thoughts of a pet who locked in collars will cause a bit of life and a bite of death I enjoyed