If you think we are born for your entertainment
You are living in fool’s paradise
It is neither funny nor the game of children
We lose our much desired freedom
Grass is our place, our food, our palace
Your drinks and foods are our poisons.
We love our children and wild lives, as you love yours
But your love for them is cruelty for us
The laughs of your children seeing us in the cage,
Are arrows which pierce to bleed our hearts
Our cries are your children’s amusement
Our deaths are their funeral games
If these are not inhuman acts, then which are?