” Crawling, slithering, wriggling on the mulberry tree;
Savouring the flavour, partaking in the feast ;
Tasting these juicy, sumptuous leaves;
Feasting on those fresh, young green addictions;
Such was my life ,
Happy, innocent and young , without even a strife.
Until the day I start spinning silk,
Preparing myself for hibernation, my delicate sleep;
My own sumptuous cocoon, of fine mine made silk;
But I had not known I was to die,
Killed in my sleep, burned mercilessly ;
By those sadistic, barbaric creations of God;
For their greed, for my silk.
They knew God had spawned me in such a way
If allowed to live, I would break my silk cocoon,
Their money into a million pieces
Little by little their dream would break into many tiny fine silk threads
None fit for their use, none worth me not laying dead.
Gandhi spinned cotton for my existence, to save my life,
PETA campaigned day and night against this rife,
To hell with sacrificing my life
I will not kill my breed, for your greed. “
I have always been fascinated by the beauty and dismay of a Bombyx Mori’s life cycle.
Bombyx Mori is latin for “silkworm of the mulberry tree”
They are boiled alive just after they finish spinning their cocoon. Because If the silkworm is allowed to be alive after, then it releases ‘proteolytic enzymes’ to make a hole in the cocoon so it can emerge as an adult moth. These enzymes are destructive to the silk and can cause the silk fibers to break down from over a mile in length to segments of random length, which seriously reduces the value of the silk threads.
To prevent this, silkworm cocoons are boiled. The heat kills the silkworms and the water makes the cocoons easier to unravel.
So tragic is their life. It seems humans have forgotten the meaning of ’empathy’, have lost their ability to feel.