Moving And Breathing Graveyard Poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma

In a pasture dancing, playing and singing,
Cows, buffaloes, goats, dogs floating,
Under a greenwood tree all we resting,
Far from the maddening crowd disgusting.

Frightened by the puffs of whip master’s invasion,
Ran scarcely and sadly for safe habitation,
Sometime laugh, sometime crab at man’s compression,
Food, water, home is never a concern but liberation.

Man’s hunger, pride and prejudice is our lamentation,
Beaten mercilessly while escaping for safe consolation,
Even young and little are not free from this brute passion,
Moving, breathing graveyard is man’s belly and our cremation.

Doubt about to see next spring grass and sky,
In wire barb, are we seized and jailed, we cry,
Looking at moon, stars for help and mercy,
Life and joy sucked away dry.

Every drops of our milk is sucked away,
Like a pheasant, with tears bloody, always pray,
Man will be kind one day,
And animals will enjoy happy lane ways.

But on a day special, a bearded butcher appear,
And all my dear and near axed and disappear,
I was left to count my breather,
This man is not a God’s creature.


By: -
Dr. Yogesh Sharma