The act is brutal
Long, black as her luck
her ears.
In the leash, moved around
stopping off and on.
Hazel eyes in the light look above
"Sir, can I? "
Wants to touch the snow; smell ice
rope pulling: "hurry up."
The act is brutal.
Pet owning is crime
even if overt love
no bark and no mew
no mate by free choice
everything is imposed.
The act is brutal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An interesting piece, Nassy. Domesticated pets have come to rely on our captivity of them but loose a certain amount of freedom.