by Atul Chandra Sarkar
When they spot a dog
Anywhere all alone,
To hear the dog cry,
They pelt a stone.
The pain he suffers,
Is their source of joy,
Some bring a pup,
Instead of a toy.
When they’re fed-up,
They simply discard,
Who until yesterday,
Was their loyal guard.
Out on the streets,
They love to hit it and run,
Cruelty is their pleasure,
Being callous their fun.
Hungry and thirsty,
Manged, full of ticks,
Fractured here and there,
Beaten up with sticks.
Roasted in the sun,
Shelterless in rain,
Licking its wounds,
It refuges in a drain.
Petrified day and night
By endless, hurtful flail,
The poor soul scurries
With tucked in tail.
Dashed by a vehicle,
Yelping to its end,
A bloated carcass,
Becomes a loyal friend!
Crushed under wheels,
Dishonored after death,
The symbol of gratitude
Until its last breath.
A crumb once given,
Who can never ever forget,
Do understand:
The short-cut to joy,
Is this mute pet.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Double Post Graduate in Philosophy and Sociology and LLB degree-holder, a Gold Medalist from Canning College, University of Lucknow, U.P. India. Presently engaged as Advisor (Industrial Relations) and Public Information Officer (Corporate) at Uttar Pradesh Rajya Vidyut Utpadan Nigam Ltd., Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, India and is a Guest Faculty at Electricity Training Institute, Sarojini Nagar, Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh on the Right to Information Act, 2005. An Advocate registered with the Bar Council. Articles, poems and short stories have been published in popular National dailies like Pioneer, Northern India Patrika, Times of India, Campus Verse, Shaktivani, etc. A Blogger at Times of India's speakingtree and having a flair for oil painting. A democratic, liberal and humanist to the core.
Last updated October 03, 2015