I'm reading this wonderful book right now called Bird Without Wings by british novelist Louis De Bernieres. The same author who wrote Captain Corellli's Mandolin. It's set during the fall of the Ottoman empire during the First World War. But thats not what this entry is about, rather at the beginning of the book there is this short poem by greek author Spyros Kyriazopoulos entitled The Cat.
I'm pasting the version here, because it fascinates me a great deal, and I find it quite profoundly thought provoking.
If anyone has any thoughts please share.
The Cat
She was licking
the open tin
for hours and hours
without realising
that she was drinking
her own blood.
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