Man - The Ultimate Creation

Man - The Ultimate Creation

2 mins 388 2 mins 388

             

 O Man, you who are God’s ultimate and impeccable creation,

 Gifted with superior intelligence and exceptional compassion,

 Our meek entreaty to you, our helpless and mute supplication,

 Try to alleviate and allay our pathetic and deplorable condition.


 Bird I am, how I do love to spread my tired wings and freely fly

 To probe the ever-mysterious expanse of the limitless azure sky!

 How I love to feed my wee little birdies in their warm cozy nest,

 Or hop among the leafy bushes the juicy sweet berries to taste!


 You’ve heartlessly caged me in this barred crammed-up prison,

 Inflicted on me this suffering, this torture without any just reason,

 Without any guilt, you have tyrannically my freedom taken away,

 It’s intensely cruel, barbarously brutal, even sinful if I may say!


I am a pig in a U.S.A farm where six million of us are cruelly bred,

We are confined in narrow gestation crates, in the concrete shed.

Our feet get bruised and injured; here we cannot even turn around

Excessive sufferings make us neurotic, the Researchers have found.


Our tails are ruthlessly hacked off without anesthesia or pain relief,

When we reach the prescribed weight, we’re slaughtered is my belief,

Man, if you have any bit heart in you, put a stop to this cruel barbarity,

We are voiceless, we are helpless; we depend entirely on your charity.


We are the frisky chicken, the timid cows, and the frolicking goats,

Without benumbing, you heartlessly and cruelly cut our throats;

We’re tied, tethered, and helplessly tremble as death comes near,

For the nauseating smell of our own blood paralyzes us with fear.


Just because you like to indulge in an unnecessary meal of meat,

You use the glistening knife on us, ignoring our squeal and bleat,

When we’re in your clutches and for escaping there is no way,

Is it honorable to take advantage and to strike, stab and flay?


We’re the wretched buffaloes in villages used for ploughing;

Pulling the plough is back-breaking, if not hard or harrowing.

The thick wooden rod chafes painfully against our sore neck, 

But carry on we must, though it may blister, fester or break.


Horses we are, we cannot rest, we have to run and run all day through

Our energy spent, frothing at the mouth-- to empathize there are very few;

We’re half-starved, thirsty and tired, if we slow down, we get the whip,

 Is it possible without food and rest to be able to gallop, sprint and leap?!


Man, you are there to save and protect, for you are God’s Ultimate creation;

You were made not to annihilate, for you are the fountain of compassion;

You can feel our heart throbbing too, we also go through excruciating pain. 

Hear our mute humble supplication, let not our entreaty be entirely in vain.


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