Fate- the cycle

By: B. B. Bhandari

Earthly creation all we here,
Be it man or those selfless fish,
Isn’t soil same that we all share?
Why then we trap and broth them to dish

Born man, borne hearts with greed- so coarse,
Own thus those poor lives and rise up high,
Whipping senile mother horse,
Despite tears from their bleeding thigh

Roadside alas with shrunken sheath,
Thus they hobble with lifeless bend,
Away from home and through the heath,
Craving hard for peaceful end

Poor cow though with her nibbling calf,
Yet we own full, her son’s milk,
But when life passed more than half,
Thence no man to weave her silk!

Hearing not, praise for selfless gifts,
They flash past with rivulets of sheds,
Non mine ones to see by day,
Or to serve by my death bed

Until within creepy worms say-
Lives you earned alike, so here you repay
That is all called Samsara,
Mighty rope to sail all around.