HUNT THE HUNTER

I killed a mosquito, last night

Squashed its cadaver, in my hands

Does that make me, a poacher?

He was wild, right

And kill him I did, not just tonight

Every night, for the past decade

Does that make me, a hunter?

The poacher, hunter is he

Who kills tens, hundreds, thousands, millions of game

With mercenary selfish thoughts and plans

He kills them, regardless of their future.

He kills them, callously.

Skins them, professionally.

De-horns them, unfeelingly.

At the market, he dares boasts of his proficiency.

Time is up, time is now

Kill the game, save the game

Hunt the hunter.

Befado