#366809 added August 17, 2005 at 1:11pm Restrictions: None
Bubale
Bubale
In the mountains and on the plains
our forefathers grazed,
Yours went north, mine south
to where I forage.
Now those who drove you to your grave
have journeyed here to spoil this too.
Only in the memory of those long dead
do you exist,
a drawing in a dictionary,
a two-line text,
describing black hair, mighty horns,
a wild ox, they called you.
O Aurochs!
Who will write of me when I am gone?
No room for other species here!
When one exalt above the rest,
needing space
to breed the millions.
Multiplying two-legged roaches,
taking all there is
and leaving us to starve.
I write to you
to ask of you:
Who will write of me
when I am gone?
Who will draw the curves
of my great horns?
Must I be remembered
only in the books
of those who vanquished me?
O Aurochs, who remembers now?
save your ancient friend, Bubale.
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