The lament of the Grape

Plucked from my mother,
Thrown with my kith and kin,
My flesh,
Crushed and pressed
In dark dungeons,
As my blood flowed into
Wooden barrels,
To be aged,
Bottled and corked,
And be sold, and
As you open the bottle,
And pour,
You sniff my blood
And exhale, satisfied;
And my blood touches
Your lips,
And you swirl it, slowly,
Ever so slowly,
You sip,
As my blood course
Down your throat,
The sugar courses
Through your vein,
And the warmth radiates
Through your body,
Don’t pontificate that
I didn’t feel any pain.
In your satisfaction
Lies mine,
Remember, for your satisfaction,
I gave my life,
Acknowledge it,
And my sacrifice, my life,
Won’t be in vain.
But never again do say,
I didn’t feel any pain.

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this poem is the result of a lively discussion between vegetarian and non-vegetarian in a WhatsApp group.