Death Of A Vulture Poem by Karen Esperanza
Death Of A Vulture
He spends his life,
in a constant watch.
We watch him too,
we watch him stalk.
Those acquainted with the ground,
watch those acquainted with the sky,
we wonder if what we see is a lie.
How can a vulture fly that high?
His wingspan lies, his wingspan lies!
Swooping low,
we see him close,
we cut off his deceit.
Inside our minds,
he is dying now,
but still our rot, he eats.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/29/2024 10:35:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
