Dad stands knife in hand
It is large; it is sharp.
On the ground is a lamb
On its side; legs on sand
Brown eyes feeling-less
“I know your trick.
Shear wool, throw me in water.
I’ll swim to safe side.
A game we have played; often.”
Dad bent I, heard him whisper:
“Not this time”
What is that?
I wondered.
Dad was’ sure unhappy; talked:
“Life is hard...better death.”
What is that?
I wondered
He told me to go in for something.
(I ran and...)
I returned
Lamb was dead in blood
As a child I heard wind
Your dad said “I am next”
News came
“Dad was dead”
Mother said:
“Life was tough, your dad kind, killed the lamb to save it.”
“Can killing be kindness? ”
I wondered
I know now ‘yes of course’
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem