The Goat Poem by MOLOY BHATTACHARYA

Don't drag him to the temple
And sacrifice for religion
To appease the Goddess
And enrich your hungry belly.
Look at his face closely
He is a poor child that waits
The moment of impending danger,
That depicts our selfish gluttony,
His innocent eyes speak
Of freedom and mutual love.
Every living being enjoys right to live
Why is he deprived of that right?
Do the deities really hanker after blood?
And the holy books endorse the killing?
He is a minority, no one to protest,
His cry is suppressed with blaring noise
And the crowd cheers up for celebration
Of gastronomic pleasure with the carcass.
Many of his generations are born to die,
To gratify us in our secred rituals.