The Crow


A crow sat on my window,

Looking inside, watching me type furiously on my laptop,

He must be wondering what is really up with humans and the screens,

I on the other hand was wondering if this black winged creature ever gets tired of flying and searching for food,

I stared at him, he stared back, like he wanted to say something,

Deep into my Monday blues, I whistled at him,

He gave me another stare and fluttered his wings as if he wanted to show them off,

I asked him if he ever felt bad being labeled as an evil bird,

That doves meant peace and crows meant death...

He started cawing like he had understood my question,

After a minute he was tired and flew off...

It's startling that crows are so much like humans,

They are wrongly labeled, all of them speak but no one really understands,

They struggle to survive and struggle to be ahead of others in their league,

A little interrogation makes both of them fly away,

The only difference being one is winged & the other is not !



The crow short reads poem prose fiction


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