Elegy of a Young Crow

Elegy of a Young Crow
by mazHur

Unusually, the monsoon poured heavily this year,
putting most of the homed and homeless in trouble;
roofs of many a house leaked down and trickled,
inundated the low-lying slums with aqueous fear.

Giant trees got brushed down with rain and fell;
small grass bent and leaned down as laid to rest;
drenched birds in the trees and mansion holes,
life seemed drowning in the rainy spell.

Pariah dogs and cats and mice ran for their lives
avoiding to be carried away with the watery gush
on low land, for shelter in any nook on hand,
bees and wasps pinged with rain-drops tucked in hives.

Suddenly I saw a black thing lying near the hedge
that spread along my outer lawn flushed with rain;
compelled by this unusual sighting I couldn't wait
to see who the devil was lying near the sedge.

Next minute I was standing on its head, wondering,
what I could do to save his life, send him home,
he couldn't stand on his legs, nor walk nor fly,
billed and beaked and clawed his parents could do nothing.


What that young of a Mahakala was doing there?
but for sure he was lying half-dead exposed to risk
of being devoured by the pariah dogs and cats
or to be dead with wetness till the sun may appear.

I bent over him and extended my hand to pick him up
but the dude opened up his bill as if to bite;
A little fear coupled with courage I finally moved
on to get hold of the dying hungry Crup.

Like a charmer catching a cobra by the neck,
I tightly gripped the torso of the baby crow;
he simply fluttered with fear, hunger and cold,
disabled, helpless, feeble, wretched wreck.

Then from nowhere came two crows and began to hover
over my head crowing and cawing as hard as they could;
Intelligent and clever yet good judge of goodness,
won't peck at me or my head as they would do in furor.

I saw them and guessed they were none else
than the parents of that incautious baby crow,
whom rain had thrown out of his haven, his nest,
and who now lay in my hands with dimming pulse.

The elder crows, the two of them,mum and dad, perhaps,
circled over and over my head as i stood
thinking what to do with the little brood,
how to save the life of that Utnapishtim's gem.

I looked around for the wretched nestlings home,
but found no eyrie, no airie, no refuge, no nest;
no place for me to drop him in safer hands
no shelter for him that would the world entomb.

Finally I rested him up on a dense nearby bush,
hoping his loving folk would pick and take him away;
but worse than a crow he lay there like a crow bait
his raven plumage merging with night's dark lush.

No one to care no sound of a rescuer's ting,
young without care would hardly survive;
fit as a young but not as fit as the fittest adult,
the mute nestling was bound to die 'fore it could sing.

Mercy for none those are weaker and defenseless,
Laws of Nature are too harsh excessively cruel,
at least for the birds to carry and relocate their nestlings,
lesser lifting tools these deprived Aves do possess.

I tried my best to rescue and send home the baby crow
but for his reasons own he'd surely forever go.

That is so sad. I hate when I find baby birds, because they invariably die.

Very bad grammar, man. Totally unpoetic language is used.

You have a bunch of poems. All absorbing.

thanks Qim, thanks Blaze

and you, Agni, Fire! Fire!