The Last Look

In mid-July noon,

when the sun was

dim and the sky

was dark, there came

along a venomous soul

Slithering through the yellowish-green

blades of freshly sprouted buffalo grass,

beside the row of neatly laid out garden pots,

there came along a venomous soul.

Barely one and a half feet long,

but with the ferocity of a giant,

and an intimidating dark hood,

that stood tall like the canopy of

a dark forest, on a moonlit night,

a greenish-brown serpent -

an oblivious young Indian krait.

I was sitting in a shed,

beside a grass-laid field,

shaded by a dyeing ancient tree,

on a dining table - set with six chairs.

There sat two cats with me to share my lunch,

and two other humans to share some chats.

Talking about the hungry cats and daily gossip.

I could hear the blabbering of the crowd from nearby 

rooms, a modern office filled with people;

and then we saw the slithering motion on the field.

Suddenly the slightly silent noon turned mighty violent.

One screamed with fear and the others streamed for schism.

A few went from here and a few came from rooms,

but the usually curious cats waited for an easy meal

rather than a potentially risky venomous deal.

Some came with sticks, like war veterans of Roman legions,

 and others came with fear, like a witch in the Salem trials,

and the poor venomous soul sensed what awaits.

It didn't mean to scare nor to dare,

for the land of men is a treacherous dump.

But the poor snake worked its way, oblivious to the risks.

Now it realized it was bad luck and coiled under a pot in defense.

The cats gave a visit to its natural enemy,

but even they shed pity for the worm, trapped amidst human tyranny.

Savage mouths that know no mercy,

screamed for the death of a clueless serpent.

Both out of fear and out of despise, 

they called for the death of a sorrowful soul.

I tried to reason with murderous intentions

but they won't accept a peaceful resolution.

The snake might be back for a human taste they say,

the snake might be back for a murderous spree they say.

I saw the sticks and I saw those minds.

Strike after strike they meant to deliver,

like a vengeful ghost that torments its victim.

I saw their will to kill for nothing,

for it's a poor soul with no one to care.

The pain it has to endure did hurt my heart,

I gave it the mercy of quickest death.

With a single stroke, I ended its life.

In the name of mercy, an ironic act.

I saved him from the savagery of a barbaric mob.

But it stained my soul and drained my conscience.

The snake might have envied the luck of the cats,

for they both have some similar traits,

yet the humans won't haunt their days

and rather would admire the beauty of those beasts.

That final look it gave me, those eyes

filled with the spectrum of fear and fury,

like an ember ensconcing to its final sparks.

That look will haunt me forever and ever.

It wanted to live and it wanted to survive,

but all I took was a single stroke.

Lost are its dreams and lost are its hopes.

But what have I become, just a soul of regrets?