It’s in our genes that
this ancient path lies.
Yesterday, a few men
made a tarred road
across our path in the
forest. It’s ironic that
we’re trespassers today.

Shattered pieces of
bright light make
holes in the canopy
of our privacy. Horns
pierce our peace. We
get trauma from a
newly put up fence
of wire. Those old
monkeys were gentle.
They neither destroyed
nor disturbed.

We rest on our path.
Two guys pelt us with
missile-shaped stones.
Barbarism spews from
the bottom of their mind.
Our patience is as large as
our size. Mind’s cataract
cannot be removed either
with a surgery or laser rays.

First printed in Kanoli Kaleidoscope(PunksWritePoems,Press)

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