Saga of a street dog

I have no name to be called after.

But my innocent eyes return to you each time I listen to

your harsh “hesshesshess”,

your hateful “sskksskksskk”

and your pitiful “chchchchch”.

In your eyes, my furs may be of the colour black, brown, grey or white,

but for me, they stitch the only attire

that saves me from the rage of seasons. Sometimes your car becomes my saviour providing me with a roof,

protecting me from sun, rain & dew.

And sometimes the wheels of the same snatch away my last breath.

Sometimes the bone-breaking cold propels me

and sometimes the aroma coming from your kitchen drags me

to peep through your half-opened gate.

Then you throw stones at me,

you beat me with sticks,

you pour hot water over me.

I leave your place with limping legs and aching body.

But your such cruelty doesn’t make you a devil in my eyes.

Because since long I have accepted it as my fate,

as if I am born to be dishonoured, to be hated, to be hurt, to be ignored.

But I wish I could show you my gratitude

each time you throw your stale dishes and rest rotis in front of me.

Your kindness makes you God in my eyes.

Just like you, I also become a creator

by bringing new lives to the world,

maybe four to five lives at a time,

maybe twice a year.

But their lives wither much before

they become able to play with their paws,

to wag their tails fully.

Because neither as a pregnant I am taken care of

not as a mother I can take care of my little ones.

Do you know I have some cousins in your house, in your friend’s house, in your neighbour’s house!

But their destiny is blessed with cuddles and licks,

not with kicks and sticks like that of mine.

I bark with all my force at every other person new in the street.

But do you know what hurts!

You don’t recognize me,

you treat me like a stranger although we meet daily.

Because you think that my only capacity, my sole duty

is to bark and bite.

Someday look at me closely.

You will realise how I swallow feelings silently. I am a street dog.

Dirty, ugly and inferior.

But I have a soul too, just like that of you.

©ruchiabhisikta

7 thoughts on “Saga of a street dog

  1. Love Is The Warmth
    Of Any Mammal
    Nurturing Offspring

    Love Is

    Whatever

    Mammal’s

    Breast That

    Nurtures

    Love To Be

    Gardened

    Forever

    Now

    True

    No Dog

    Of Love

    Nurturing

    Pups Is Ever

    Stray To “The
    Child” Fur or Bare😊

    Liked by 1 person

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