A Kind Of Genocide

A sort of genocide

I guess, still
The best poem,
To have read on
Freedom and slavery,
Is the poem by Sales,
The great Iranian poet.

It is a comparison of
The dogs and the wolves,
Through dogs' talk
And that of the wolves'…

The dogs,
Sheltered and warm
Near the stove,
Complain that
The master is rough
And is tough
And beats them

But feeds them too
And
They do not have to suffer
And that
He,
The master
Caresses them
When in good mood.

Wolves
In the cold
Of the plains,
In the snow,
Hungry,
Complain that
There is no prey
To fill their tummies
And no shelter
To protected them
And no safety in resting.

Then,
A sudden bang,
A gunshot, a bullet,
A wound, and blood,
It writes on the white page
Of the snow:
"Price paid
For Freedom"

Now
Here, in the Modern World
In Stanley Park,
In Victoria,
And in Alaska,
And in Africa,
The Pets,
Being the caged birds
Or the domestic animals
Or other permitted Slaves,
That are deprived of freedom,
And are defended,
Are, possibly, fed, and caressed
Only according to the masters' wish…

But
The Coyotes,
The Bears,
The Cougars,
And the wolves,
The Lions, the Rhinos
And the…are killed as
Dangers and hazards
Or for benefit…

Pesticides
Means mass murder,
Genocide of the worms,
And the insects,
And with them gone,
Hunger destroys the
Free and singing birds,
Among them and the latest, is
The Ivory-billed woodpecker.

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