By Tonny Wandella

Mornings are full of hunters,

But we prey;

We prey, lodged under a cloud of anticipation,

but mornings are vicious and full of confusion,

Cast upon us are seeds of our sins.

But we prey;

Before we become brace in a hunter’s bloody grip.

We browse and gnaw,

Until nothing palatable is left;

So we prey;

never to turn each other into broth and its aroma,

never to be baptized with a chase; a hunter’s flurry.

So we prey,

Before he skin and wear us.

A times we call traps home,

Stuck in the routine of survival;

today our names are cleared but…

we prey;

for the shepherd to come back to us in haste.

Coats turned to armor,

so, we pray.

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