Fowl Ranch

People, they are selfish,
We are being cooked,
And served in their dish,
If we try to raise our voice,
Then we are being shooed.

We don't have rights to protest,
We don't have words to express,
Our thoughts and sentiments are just a jest,
We are the prisoners under suppress.

Every day one among us has to die,
No one is there to ask for the last wish,
Except giving them all a last good bye.

Friends die torturous cruel death,
In front of the eyes is really hard to see.
Instead give us the poison and
Have some deep sleep.

After that you people are allowed,
To cut us, slice up into pieces,
Or burn us in hot ashes.




Poetry by Zalan
Read 817 times
Written on 2011-10-16 at 16:34

Tags Bird  Hen  Humanity 

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A deft write, my friend.
Naturally the title made Birdie a little nervous to read further, but bravery serves her well. This is a potent protest piece, each line as gunfire shot. I admire your fervour.
Applause!
2011-10-16