Vida Perra

Its a little wobbly.

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Us, we love dogs. They are what we ever want to be but scarcely are: loyal. Their barks, can they ever be anything but inane gibberish that all of us hear but neither understand nor care to interpret? Of course, we love them. We don't treat them as dogs do we?. Never. We care for them. Some even feed them more than what themselves would consume.

Them, do they ever even listen to what we go on about? Do they understand what we tell them when we hold them, raise them so that their eyes could meet ours, pat their heads and show our affection in other ways we are wont to? Do they ever realise that some of us are paid to walk them over cobbled pavements and manicured greens?

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Life is a bitch.

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O thy ruler,

when you jumped off your steed after the war,

to try and make sense of what you saw,

and were benumbed by the pile of mortal remnants that battles spew,

the dismembered limbs, the rusted guts, the impaled hearts,

the invisible sweat and tears of those who were just as human as you,

for a fleeting moment or two,

were you tempted to lie there,

to become what lies ever want to be,

but never are:

to be true?

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