The Buffalo

Mind imprisoned in its own flesh,

The wagon wheel cuts deeper tracks in the mud

Mired and bogged on paths stretching to the horizon.

The buffalo, black and caked in dirt,

Knows no better,

Sees no future beyond this trudging misery

Marching endless paddy fields for untold harvests.

Look in its eyes and see its despair,

Begging for relief, release, and change,

Lacking the strength to budge the wheels free from rutted tracks.

Wagon slave

Sorrow eater.

‘Pity’ he says

‘The soul that sinned enough to be wagon bound.

Pity me’.