Tiger Cub

The tigress dies among the seeds,
her vibrant flesh finally cut down
to fertilizer for 
the precious cycle to begin.

The Wheel of Life runs its eternal path,
never stopping never ending
for that's the function God has given it.

The rain comes and
caresses the tigress's fur,
feeling it for one last time
before the demons of death come.

How her hungry child must mourn for her,
There he is, hiding among the leaves,
his tiny body shivering from 
the cold rain that greedily licks his face.

He does not dare approach his mother
lest the savages might find and kill
him too.

The rain pours.

It wasn't her time yet.
Her bloody body did not die 
for the seeds.

The Wheel of Life is doomed.

5/10/00 --3:20pm

I know this poem is very vague, so here's a footnote. The issue in this poem is poaching. The 'demons of death' and 'savages' are illegal poachers who have shot and killed the tigress. I hope that's enlightening enough. I wrote this when I was watching the rain fall in my backyard one cloudy evening. I came up with the idea when I imagined a tigress lying near some potted plants, and a tiger cub hiding underneath the mango tree. Yeah, my backyard's like a jungle!

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