Memory of the Calves

Like people love their cats and dogs,

I loved our backyard calves.

They were my childhood friends.

I stroked their fur and jowls,

admired their pitch-black snouts

and lash-framed innocent eyes.

I fed them tender bamboo twigs

and ripe garden guavas.

As I studied under the shade of

orange and mango canopies,

they came to check on me.

I hugged them, showing love

while their mothers were away in pastures.

Such loving, sweet creatures!

Now, I am an immigrant,

I have no calves to play with,

but nostalgia keeps me company.

So I paint them —

recalling every emotion, every gaze,

as they looked at me, with trust

in my parents’ backyard.

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated" ~ Gandhi