Where is my beloved?
Where is my beloved?
The bosom mate that toiled with me
with the yoke on his neck till yesterday.
The Bull sobbed thinking of his beloved
minding not the tumbler-full water
And hay stack before him.
Fixing eyes somewhere afar.
"Someone came in the morn;
Undid the knot and awakened him with a tap;
Giving a tumbler full to drink,
The man walked away with him...
There after he didn't turn up till.
What may the reason be?"
He mumbled sad at the crow
that was pecking up fleas on his back
"Never friend, he won't come again to pull
the yoke with you.
No use to expect,
he has been digested inside the stomach
of men; No need to hope
His bones got processed in the mill
will reach here to be spread in the
tilling furrow as manure.
The hide now started to be smoked
will be transformed as shoes.
The horn will reach in markets
as curio images and toys.
Nothing in your body a waste for man!"
Saying this the crow winged away some where
And the Beef sobbed with streaming eyes.
"The throat was roped at birth itself
The nose was bored when learned to walk
The shackle was made hard with the rope
Testicles got squeezed and thus sterilized
Iron hooves thrusted by binding the legs
Marked on the thighs with hot- iron and
The whip made many a wound on the loin in youth;
When youthfulness oozed away by toil,
Throat is chopped, with the limbs all bound up
And every body part was sold..."
Minding not the tumbler full of water
and the hay stack before him
Fixing his eyes somewhere afar
The Beef sobbed thinking of his beloved;
Sobbed thinking of human cruelty.
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