17 The Worm And The Angler

THE WORM AND THE ANGLER They (the fish) are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able.- Earnest Hemingway in 'Old Man and the Sea'. When you picked me up from the dirt I writhed and tried to wriggle out For my life. I felt the vile heart that throbbed On the ugly fingers that held me- Your heart! It was dirtier than the dirt I lived in Fouler than the fowl-beaks I escaped till day Crueler than the crow-beaks That would feed on my flesh. Not even in my dreams Had I seen a hook Much less, one that would impale me, For, none who ascended the cross, nay, hook Came back to tell the tale of the crooks. Life is just another tale By another name! My slightly flesh Would not your hunger sate So I am here on the hook a bait For the fish to come and bite. I would attract only smaller fry Bigger sharks need better baits. The fish that would swallow me And end up on your dining table Knows quite well that I do not belong to its waters And its regular food But never guess I am a bait May not notice the hook, the line And the vile hands holding control. It would be too late When the sharpness of the hook Meets its flesh And pulls it out Of its own waters Writhing, gasping for a wisp of air In the abundant air That would snatch its life away. In the excruciating pain And the suffocating full open air It would definitely forget To curse you, the line and the hook. But the curse on me Is for generations to come. Its guts you remove Would include my little flesh May be still alive Would feed the crows and the fowl. But they would never know My bleeding heart, life impaled Your forked tongue And crooked fangs. Life is just another game By another name!