“Dog” by Ananya S. Guha

The dog is destitute.
When we smile, it cannot.
When it smiles, we cannot.
It wags its tail. We wag our tongues.
It looks askance. We are bohemians.
The dog is just an individual of hunger and raw meat,
boiled vegetables or eaten food. It takes away philosophy in atrophy.
When it dies, we mourn summers of hydrophobia.

For more poems by Ananya, pick up a copy of FIVE Vol. 1 No. 3.