The Cristmas Ode To A Canned Sprout Poem by Zamir Osorov

Even if you are the tanned sprout
tightly packed
in pretty cane
filled with olive oil
you could not stop to dream about ocean,
lolled by such hopes and illusions
seemed groundless absolutely.
But while your truth is hard and distorted
you will soon unavoidable
unpacked and go to the trip
to the Christmas table
where served with cheese and red wine
for the sweet departure
to the stomachs of more luckier dreamers and gourmands.
I wish you to be eaten by nice lady
if it would you relax and nurtured
for other form of coexisting
in body of whom who devoured us.
But if you are the ended atheist
white a little, headless sprouty,
all of them
who caught, cut, prepared, tanned,
mailed, sold, baught, presented
and ate you
will be combined together
chewed, crumbled, munched
and return to the soil of mother nature.

From where you will select
ask and have right to start
more preferable fate and future.