It’s in our genes that this ancient path lies. Yesterday, a few men made a tarred road across our path in the forest. It’s ironic that we’re trespassers today. Shattered pieces of bright light make holes in the canopy of our privacy. Horns pierce our peace. We get trauma from a newly put up fence of wire. Those old monkeys were gentle. They neither destroyed nor disturbed. We rest on our path. Two guys pelt us with missile-shaped stones. Barbarism spews from the bottom of their mind. Our patience is as large as our size. Mind’s cataract cannot be removed either with a surgery or laser rays. First printed in Kanoli Kaleidoscope(PunksWritePoems,Press)