I saw a very old woman out in the cold
There was rain
There was a hyena
Eager to take a piece of her
And she cried out feebly for help
And she was answered
Or rather she now had company
A red-eyed and horned monster

It trampled on the only hope she had:
The feeble voice
Muted like a zombie
And the beast
Coughed out a fire of destruction
Breathed immobility in her
To eager but not quite able
To lick away her life as well.

Helpless, rejected and dejected too
Talk of desolation and poverty
Never again back to her land
Her only inheritance; and heritage too
The woman dies of hunger and disease
The monster wags its tail in joy
Then turns back and leaves her
Unburied, unattended, unmourned
Left her for the hyena to do the rest.