Sacrifice
Nothing has been occupying my minds,
I have all the requirements for them to be classed as two,
For I have double-vision as to the religion of my thought,
I am not guilty and I have no stigma,
Merely the goat has been slain by its owner
For the worn garment, and the delicious meat it endows.
What is century after century of sacrifice when a life has been
Rectified for all the days in it?
Why do we keep lunar years for these praises and festivals
When every year seemed to be carried?
Where is my food, O mother! Why does the goat hurt when it is dissected?
It is a child that speaks hostility and not a stranger can even desire this speech.
We can sacrifice all we want, when we want, and however we want
As long as rivers and oceans shall curve with water.
Water makes it abundantly clear, like the blood that wreaks from the neck
Of a dead goat. Always the sacrifice is made on this time in the calendar.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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