Corrida!
Where is it, his cherished meadow
The smell of wet ground in the rain
The green grass and the wildflowers
which the perfume delighted him
There is no any green grass here
There is only the hardened sand
It is not the rain that wet it
but the blood flowing from his wounds
And smell is that of fear and pain
Where is it, his cherished meadow
Where are the big trees of the groves
which he enjoyed the fresh foliage
listening to the chirping birds
There is no any birdsong here
just the cries of so-called humans
screaming with joy at each new wound
at each new blade stuck in his flesh
Where is it, his cherished meadow
the sun which heated it body
gentle breeze announcing the spring
and blue skies dotted with white clouds
There is a sun burning his wounds
but he can no longer see the sky
They have cut tendons of his neck
for he can no longer raise his head
Where is it, his cherished meadow
his brothers with whom he grew up
his friends and their joyful gallop
There is no gallop ... he staggers
silence, the butchers hold their breath
when the last blade enters his neck
It is there... his cherished meadow
After the cold and darkness,
Soon... soon the green grass forever
Wildflowers for eternity
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Submitted on September 26, 2015
Modified on April 03, 2023
- 1:07 min read
- 3 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | Abxx cxxdb Axxx cxxx Aexx dxfx Agg xxf axxe |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,201 |
Words | 225 |
Stanzas | 9 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 5, 4, 4, 4, 4, 3, 3, 4 |
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"Corrida!" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 13 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/68566/corrida!>.
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