Ode to a Butcher

The blood-red piece of meat cut open from the caged animals tearing apart their furs and dermal layers like the gates of a posh apartment, opened rapidly once the car of the lord makes it’s way inside,
Embellishes those stinky counters.

Suspending from those giant hooks, my eyes fear that the already dead meat is again condemned to another method of death called “hanging.” Do you think there is an ounce of life still left in that sticky piece?
A goat estimated to be about 6000 rupees has its fearful meat sold today at a lesser price. Is chastity so cheaply available, my brother?

The skin of the animals heaped together in one corner fills the dungeon-like room with a smell which reminds one that the judgment day is near.

No amount of room fresheners can stand before the suzerainty of the murky slaughterhouses. You are there– its lord, its head.

Yet, you seem like an equally robust executioner.

The only difference is of the mask which you do not care to wear. You enjoy the bloodbath when the skulls of the mooing cows and timid goats are severed and kept like showpieces adorning the shelves of a fancy shop.

You look like the wrath of God personified.
Yet, when you give over that meat after shredding it to countless, nanoscopic pieces and smile to your customers while handing over the dirty plastic bags full of flesh ecstatically,
You show the other side of the Creator.

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