A bird on the lawn
walked with its beak back and forth.
My palm could be its square.
It had long white feathers
mixed with dark-grey ones,
lovely as my child newly-born.
Everywhere, I found
such heartache cuteness.
I remembered once
my great uncle took me
to grow soybean seedings.
When they sprouted out of soil,
I spot a cluster of polar penguins.
No lives are not cute and priceless.
As a child, I thought
the leaf mustard must have felt hurt
when I cut it just about the earth.
Yet, lives build on lives,
how cruel and helpless this world is,
Jain, Buddhist and Jesus’ loves
extend to different spectrums of lives.
If I could survive without food and drink,
I would not pick up a leave
or kill myriad bacteria in a cup of water.
But I have to eat and thrive.
Where should the boundary of my compassion lie?