Crossroads Park

At a highway crossroads
Leading out of this City
There is a tiny little park
Where maidservants on their off day
go to meet their sweethearts.
Amidst the noise and dust
the fumes of the passing cars
the shrubs and trees
which might have otherwise been beautiful
are coated with thick dust.
Intimacy is brewed and thrives here
every sunny Sunday afternoon,
and one passes by without taking notice
only once in a while an estranged heart such as mine
stops to wonder with admiration
how this love thrives and holds its own
in this noisy, dusty and soulless city of ours.

Murder of Crow

A crow was lying on the pavement dead

Who has murdered the messenger of death?

Its black plumage exposed it the sun

Still holds its plutonian sheen

For a second I stood transfixed

As to pay my last respects

As to absolve myself

From the wrath of the dark master

Of this hapless crow

____

If this were some little wren

The tiny ants would have already settled

On its beak and eyes to gouge

No ant dares settle on these dark eyes

That looks down to the underworld

and in my head sounds an eerie caw

Avenge me master of this gore

They have broken the old rule of yore

That to a messenger no harm shall befall 

_____

My mortality flashed across my eyes

As I sat at the high stool

And the shoe shiner handed me a newspaper

Chattering on about his dreams of youth

A murder of crows fluttered in my mind

And in unison went on their caw  

Avenge me master of this gore

They have broken the old rule of yore

That to a messenger no harm shall befall