A moral dilemma of mine,

I was not high on the drunkard wine,

Walking along a straight line,

If I crushed friends of your nine,

Oh, Ants! Was it a mistake of mine?

 

Crushed under thy feet,

I see some struggling a bit,

But I don’t have the first-aid kit,

To make you walk on your feet,

Then an idea within me lit,

What if I took to the grit,

To end your suffering in this heat,

Let me smash and turn you into meat?

 

And thus began the moral dilemma,

Of what would be an act,

Of more compassion of thy heart?

To let you struggle with crushed limbs,

Or free thy spirit into heavenly hymns.

 

Tell me O scriptures what do you say?

Preaching of no killing,

Or compassion to make it free?

How could I make a choice,

If in the meaningless existence of mine,

How could I see,

A purpose in ants’ life?

 

 

 

P.S: Please don’t take this poetry simply, the answer might reflect how would you treat your parents/grandparents in their old age.

And yeah, I will love to know what choice you make.

 

 

Photo by Allan Mas from Pexels

 

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