A fly met its death in my coffee.
I got no remorse.
What is compassion, I ask...
I once played tag with a rat
and it fell in a waterful pail
worked its way up to nowhere!
I watched fear of death.
I've murdered a lot of them.
Coldblooded.
But this one, this little one...
I poured it out.
I walked away.
What is compassion, I ask...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very pertinent question. A very intelligent question. Sometimes we can not explain our actions and it varies over time and place. Well written!
I agree Ruta. Thanks. 😊