I stood there, staring before a cage
That held a tiger, circuit at restless pace.
What a life for the beast of such rage!
A fate of such could make other’s heart race.
Born to strike terror, stalk prey, spurt with grace,
Elegance, diligence all but a day’s play,
Now it lay, held captive by barbed wire,
Born a tiger, and that was the only mistake.
A beast of beauty living life of pity,
Waiting for the food to be thrown,
A piece of meat, measured and torn,
A meal awaited that, neither filled nor left hungry.
What would it be to be born free?
Roaming in the wild at deliberate ease,
A gait that with none could agree,
Hunting to fill and not of sense to please.
Drinking, soaking, playing in divine water crease,
Find a shade, a mate and a family,
To live a balanced life with such ease
Even a foal agreed to the fair play.
Oh! How I pity!
A roar that once shook the ground was now a groan,
Once a majestic stride, shrunk to pace of agony,
Fierce glowing pair of eyes reflecting dull gloom,
A sensitive build that now lost sense of night and day,
A potent nature’s joy leading pitied caged life.
Which is cruel? Hunting for prey or hunted for pride?
Copyright © thriveni c.mysore | Year Posted 2020