Lying sideways, yellow ochre fur matted to a dull brown
Flies, everywhere on his body, no longer shaking
To drive them away.
Lifeless, on the side of the road.
Asleep, and yet not the peaceful kind
Like he is having a nightmare.
Like your brother, the last time you saw him
Inside a glass cage.
But how can I lament the death of a dog,
A bark silenced forever,
When I see men on the TV crying
Because they will starve to death
Crying, because the police beat them up
While they were walking towards a plate of food.
How can I grieve the death of a dog,
While my countrymen die in the heat
Far from home, in a strange city they came to work in.
It’s a pandemic, for god’s sake
Thousands dying all over the world
Bodies dumped, like trash in mass graves.
A woman, a woman holding her dead baby in her arms.
And yet this dead dog on the street,
Has the audacity to demand grief
As the flies feast on remnants of his life,
He has the audacity to demand to be noticed
Amidst all the death and decay and cold indifference
He has the audacity, to conjure up a teardrop in these vacant eyes.
Aishee Ghoshal is pursuing her Bachelors in English literature from JU. On sad days, she writes sad poetry about cats, love or death – or all three.
Featured image credit: engin akyurt/Unsplash