Animal Activist and poet Monika Arya had a brief encounter with a mother pig on her way to slaughter, and left a trace of kindness in a pain-filled life.
Meet a mother named 940
Womb weakened
Spirit eroded
Her boys turned to bacon
Girls glued to gestation crates
Bear witness to this sow
She had to see her babies smashed against concrete
The rest carted away
Never to be seen again
Here, today
On this day
Everyday
Lorries roll nonstop on highways
Hauling torn families
Labelled – ‘livestock’
Cars hastily overtake
Trying to outrun the streaming stench
Burrito with bodies buried
They happily munch
Un-hearing the heart wrenching cries
Unseeing the peering eyes
Desperately wanting out
Despondent, desolate
Not wanting to die
Through the bars
I try to reach her
Leave a touch of kindness
Pink skin – gnawed, raw, inflamed
Poked by rusty hooks, electric prodders and rakes
Covering her soft body
Hairs were bristly tough
Life way harder
Death brutal as hell
Obsessive knives slice through
Truck loads of heaving bodies
Like a chef’s knife whizz through chives
Except, she is a mother named 940
And her babies
Her brothers
Her sisters
All numbered like her
Countless before her
Countless after her
