What have we become, we sons of men,
Now that we’ve made of Earth a killing den?
The lion kills to put meat in his stomach.
The slithering cobra strikes to repel attack.
Neither King Lion that rules the deep jungle
Nor the soaring, sharp-clawed Eagles
Would dare slaughter the rat or stray calf,
Just that they may with blood-mirth laugh!
Why then do men – demon-possessed pack,
Merciless Humans that do humanity lack –
Now slaughter on whims and plunder at will?
Say, can we then call ourselves Humans still!?
Do you think the dead can breathe again?
Or a corpse, nurtured with sun and rain?
These hands with which we share out death
Shall, sure, one day lie, without life’s breath!
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.