I sometimes wonder
How crows –
Dark rishis
Perched on
Cawing, unruly branches-
Look down
With an air
Of benevolent contempt –
Ignoring the fountain
Of abuse
Spouting from
The jugular traffic
And the bone
Crushing stampede
Of sense
From nine to five.
Only a stray,
Rounded, saliva – polished,
Crotch-rubbed,
Red
Messenger of death
Destroys their poise
Discolours their
Bewildered hermitage
Crotch-rubbed desperation to shoo away the cynic—poetry packing a punch in the hands of the maestro.
Thank u,Kumaara.
Cricket and crows – awesome!
Thank u,Elizabeth.
The 20-20 match! Great one.
Thank u,Tapeshwar.
Loved your perspective, Vijay ji!
Thank you, Sunila.