Green Peas at Stake

Silently Lurking

A shadow wandering
under neon lamps,
still searching for a merciful gaze,
I, a fated tiger,
not as sleek or fast in my bony frame,
pray that the forest grows
apart from me,
and, if not to the sound of my roar,
the rapids run
down through time,
so part of me lives on.

Since in this arid circus
the ground is wrinkled with greed,
I stay silent
solitary, locked in,
though growling at gestures now and then.
What else is left when
people just recognize the fur I’m wearing
or the metals glittering on my collar
under moving lights?

If I am a prowler, so why am I the prey
to the whips snapping?
Am I an impostor beast
with little substance, yet waiting,
for their sticks to crack?
Or is my reflection a lie
conjured up by men of sinister deeds?
Is there nothing else to do but run around
in circles and stand on hind legs
for morsels of flesh?

Yet, I’m the one who got caught,
who exiled herself,
who built her cage bars from her own stripes.
So now, almost extinct,
wounded by lifelong blows,
I lurk
among the bookshelves
for words I need.