The Living  Dog

The Living Dog

Ugly as the hedgehog
I am the living dog
Filthy as a gutter-scum
Living like one from the slum

He’s known as the champion
He is the dead lion
He was clean as Heaven’s white
But’s now a horrible sight

Who’d regard a mere dog?
A pauper, and a bug?
My words they count rambling
This globe calls me nothing

But his name they dignify
A dead lion they glorify
Because he possessed black gold
That rules the globe’s young and old

I laugh at the world myopic
A world so foolish, blind and sick
A dead lion it celebrates
While’n the grave it disintegrates

I take the ‘is’, it takes the ‘was’
As though the globe suffers a curse
Of a fog of blindness, the curse
A blind dark world; it’s a great loss

I am the pauper, the bug, the dog
But then, I am yet the living dog
Better than a dead lost lion
And indeed, a living champion



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