Sound of the Whip
Like the sword cutting through the wind…
It heard the pain coming…
It had to run faster…
To satisfy the crowd’s luster…
No one could see its pain…
Its tears were in vain…
All that matters, were the gains…
It enjoyed the running…
But without the whipping…
Sometimes it would bleed…
At the expense of the gambler’s need…
At night it would dream of rainbows…
It would dream running in the meadows…
With hopes that men see its sorrow…
For a better tomorrow….
Copyright © Pravesh Dyall | Year Posted 2019
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