Cow Game Poem by Sajoy Paul

Heard a huge screams of farmer
Stolen spade, sickle,
Sick of coarse rice to wash sweat.
Tiller was stolen,
Whether that long ago
Solid ground forgiven
Cried from morning to evening.

Arrange colorful concrete accomplished thief
Naked across the teeth of the urban form,
That, in front of everyone now busy to keep count of theft.

'Keen to grasp the hands'
There is now over
Do not protest every tune
Is lying on the ground covered in ashes.

The smell of incense on the corpse-thin oxen

This evening, the light-shade
I live on the west of the blood stain

Bullock is no dust..