I am a hunter moving in the wilds,
Finding the tracks all day; all night,
I find a family of deers grazing,
A foal between a stag and a doe.

I see them all,
I observe, mindful of the blowing winds,
Yet when the string of bow I string,
I remember my family,
A doe, a stag and a foal.

I couldn’t find myself to pull the bow,
Yet in my ears the cries of hunger rings,
Of a foal and desperate eyes of doe,
I am unable to pull or relax.

The bow is heavy in my hands,
The string taut; yet my mind wanders,
What I think is not my mind sees,
Yet what my eyes see; I do not see.

I glance and a group of predators hunt,
I am indecisive; as the stag falls,
I am frozen as the doe dies,
I hate myself as the death throes of foal rings.

I pull my string, and the arrow pierces the throat,
A yellow shining beacon to my arrow,
The cries of agony stop,
Yet my agony never stops.

I lose my mind, and the hunter returns,
A man dies and an animal seeks vengeance,
All fall and I stand in the end,
Yet I hate myself.

I find a question profound,
And the answer insatiable,
I bring the meat to the table,
Full and bulging, yet I am thirsty,
For the knowledge eludes me.

A life in jungle,
A life in a tumble,
Both I now abhor
The innocent eyes of foal,
And the pleading eyes of doe,
Is all I visualize, yet in the stream a proud eyes of stag stares.

It disgusts me, my weakness,
Yet I am proud the stag wins in the end,
The doe succeeds and the foal lives,
In the end I wonder which family survived, and who perished.