Just Another Crow Story

The crow is cawing
on the neighbour's terrace,
trying to wake up the Sun-
And light up her dark world,
Of Disgust. 
She has been cleaning.
Cleaning and cleaning and cleaning...
Underneath pure carpets
Behind pure masks.

She can still smell the stench
Of carefully cooked food
Grinded and devoured through,
In the halls of Purity,
Until the arrival of burps. 

She can feel her skin burning,
From the sacred fire,
Carefully stoked and tended to,
By its pure caretakers-
To transform to the grey dust
that she remembers
from the crematorium. 

The beautiful chants,
that are not meant for 
dirty ears and impure minds
still reverberate in hers. 

She sees these portals of Purity 
Her mind's eyes turning Red,
As she contemplates her anger and disgust. 

With a sigh of quiet resolve,
She turns to the day ahead,
And her work of scavenging
Her eyes turning yellow and blue. 

As the sun comes up
I see the crow take wing,
And explode
Into a flurry of colours - 
Mynah,
Drongo,
King Fisher,
Bee-eater,
Roller,
Seven sisters,
Sun-bird,
Treepie...