Men As Predators

Each bird of prey sat lonely on a seat close to the wall,
Deducing and watching each fish with cup of beers in their hands.
Cunningly they caress the lips with their thumb
Fingers,
But in spite of the beers they feel the taste for lust.
Although their seeming rocky heart won't melt into larva, still they feel a degree of taste.
About ten to fifteen birds leap from their seats
To trap the preys:
Bacci on their beaks, with smoke nourishing the air; they trapped the fish in their claws,
Clanging each fish with hopeful touch;
Dancing, whispering to the fish with pound of delusive golds in their hands;
Each fish has accepted the gold and left with
The birds to be devoured cold
Upon the womb of Rhea where they thought gold did sprout.

poem by Pedro Moshood
Added by Poetry Lover
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