Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

I never knew, I never knew,
The pain of being torn from my mother,
At the age of two.

I couldn’t say what I would feel,
If I had a home of hunger,
Made of still water and steel.

I cannot fathom to analyse,
The hour upon hour of work,
Amid raucous human cries.

You flip, wave, splash and turn,
While the audience roars,
While for decades you burn.

They take your penis and your sperm,
They scour your mind and your heart,
They leave you bitter and infirm.

I have seen the wild, the wild,
In cold seas, under violent skies,
In the innocence of a child.

My heart breaks; for I know,
Being what nature made me,
What should be just so.

Do you yearn for who knows where?
There is but little earth left to you,
The oceans themselves are despair.

If God exists, you are the sin,
You became legion,
You, with your collapsed dorsal fin.