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Requiem for a Tiger

There is no one, really, to mourn her death.
Her eyes, they say, were like a wraith’s
Heavy and sombre, unlike any animal
Something born in blazing fire!
They say, they know, when a tiger is a tiger.

They call themselves all-rational.
That the embodiment of a man-eater Is an abomination – tag her a murderer! Unable to kill or secure her meal, Something that should not exist in real.
To what end is her life, what was her story? A lifetime spent reckoning deaths – nay, murders Cast out not by her own kin but human furore Erased from existence by unsympathetic orders! They say, they know, when a tiger is a tiger.
There is no one, really, to mourn her death Yet she lives on under everyone’s breath Under what name – scornful or profane In what story – irrational, of an old witch’s bane Or tragic, a mother who died without a name.