January 22, 2018

The Deer Live in Vain

poem

The Deer Live in Vain

by Shahinur Islam


 

This world doesn’t hold always good time for deer;

the deer live in vain for greed of green grass

that gives their body healthy nourishment

and makes a heady aroma of it

and exerts a pull on the deadly smell

of the hostile tiger like a magnet.

They aren’t tiger-charmers but easy prey.

They’ve no inhuman weapons like humans;

they’ve no fatty, slow-working, secret tools

that can avenge their enemies like beef,

or no fish bones like chital that can sting

and pinch the throat of man after its death.

Yet the deer live in vain thinking their life

as invaluable as anything.

They just get trapped in mantis deception

of leaves for all time— and in the cover

of deception— Death draws in tiny tints

the dotted spots all over their body.

Yet their desire to live is undying

and eternal— however frivolous

their life is in the world,

or poisonous in a twinkling.

The deer make the scenes of the world pretty

and raise the spirits in all its forests;

everyone lives on the borrowed fragrance

of their burnt hearts. Yet the deer for themselves

live in vain. For the alluring grasses

they sell well their own life gratis to death.

So the deer live in vain;

the deer still have a dance in vain

to the steps, tempos and crescendos of green.