Fish and how unkind we all are

The indifference and the uninterest
The insouciance we feel
Unresponsive to the agony
That others feel for real
Most could not care less about the soul
The ocean child
We show a kind of apathy towards
Them when they are wild

Fish part of the diet
Of humans it would seem
The excruciating decompression
We fail to hear them scream
But scream they do our ears though
Not sensitive enough
Our lethargy is obvious
For as such a foodstuff
Is more the point of interest
We see it with a sauce
With ginger and with garlic
As a matter, of course

The fact that it was sentient
Doesn’t cross our minds
Its wretched state of misery
It really underlines
Its kind of deep tranquillity
Which rapidly reveals
how wounded and downtrodden
Up to them how it conceals

Its true mortification
And utter agony

Eyes twitching
Mouth a gasping
It needs air constantly

The martyr’s in retreat
Dragged out of the ocean
And crushed beneath the feet

Of the fishermen and the ice he holds
Of the sorrow and the death
Fighting striving gulping
For another ounce of breath

Billions of doleful faces
Frozen straight away
All are bellyaching
In complete dismay
And do we even listen
Have we the organs there
We can taste them when they are cooked
But alive we do not care

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