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Monkeys

The forest path is empty; and 
the tourist hubbub mute. Lay’s, 

biscuits, banana chips, peanuts…
These monkeys lose the alms 

from visitors. Yet they enjoy 
the lockdown on the romantic 

boughs without sanitizers and 
masks. They foresee rain before 

it kisses sand. Their infants are 
beatific within cuddle and care. 

They don’t perforate the roof of 
the earth. Genocide and lynching 

are unknown to them. Never 
destructive, ever-serene, they 

live and leave. I must mistrust 
the monkey lineage of man.

*Penned during the Covid Lockdown.
First published in The Literary Hatchet.


Copyright © Fabiyas M V

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