Cow

Don’t you like fresh milk?

It smells like a cow.

No.     It’s her tears that have such smell.

Cows don’t cry.

They do honey, they do. You just don’t see. . . or you don’t want to notice. . .    . You’re afraid that if you notice, then. . .     .        Yes, honey, yes. That’s exactly what you thought.

You call it roaring. Sometimes loud.    Sometimes just tears roll silently. .

And they are silent. . .      animals.     Silent.

You would like to think that they don’t think, don’t understand.

And they do not understand, . . .          they cry and think – why? Why so meanly?

You loved him.     Her son – the little calf. Watered from a teat. . .       caressed. . .

And then killed. . .        Gave to destroy. . .       When it’s meanly, everyone understands it. . .   .

She doesn’t want another calf.     Doesn’t want to give birth to a son who will be killed again.

Her milk won’t be useful anymore. . .       For the Children. . .    .       Your children. . .   

It is with tears. . .      .        And blood.

She wanted to be loved, and all she found for Life was this body – the body of a Cow.

And you think you’re higher. That you have the right to take everything away. . .    .

Destroy the child, her child, her little one. . .     . Take away even a brief happiness. . .    from a bull. . .    .   Her Bull.        Just “inseminate”. . .      .

So, soon your children will also be “inseminated”. 

Already? . . .     

Only to yourself, you call it differently.

You think you’re smart. And brave.

Then take an encephalogram from a cow when her calf is taken to the slaughterhouse. . .     when it is herded to the place where the cattle are “slaughtered”. . .              when her child is “slaughtered”. . .       .

Or is the “scientific” courage not enough?

You ate her son, too, didn’t you?