THE DONKEY

By 

Dear men, what wrong I did so far, to

call me a donkey, cursed by all and

praised by none; all you make me a fool;

yes, a boob I am, tirelessly working, for,

the welfare of all on your tips and orders,

no question, I raise, what why or what for,

I bear the load, you plunk, on my back;

walk along the dirty streets, for you, to

sit safe, calm and happy on me, to fulfill

your tricks, the deals to earn your meals.

I find no time to have a bath and make

my body clean and tidy, as you do keep all

your waste and garbage on my back always;

and you sit on me along with your baggage

with no mercy, painfully I suffer all your weight

that, I can’t even move with, but run fast,

afraid of your bangs and blows that you

rub on, harshly upon me; you men, misers,

greedy and selfish, do give me a cheaper

feed, that too, the waste, you do throw out.

Your worthy obedient servants, mild partners,

loving, faithful friends, tender sisters and

brothers, you equate them to me, the donkey,

as useless fools, still we keep on serving you,

with no complaints or ill-will; the cheaters,

trappers and killers, are adorned as heroes,

compared with tigers, lions, and adventures;

they live in royal status; the cobra, a most

poisonous killer, here, you praise him as

king-cobra; I am shocked, men are thankless.

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