Mute

A crow quietly perches on a rooftop

On a night unblessed by stars

Where is it bound to?

To north? South? East or West?

It stares into the vastness of the earth.

Congested its poor little eyes,

The crow gives out a slight whimper.

A muted plea to an unseen being



Not one replies but a lowly wind.

Singing a song sang for ages.

The crow tries to listen;

But it cannot decipher.

It tries, it tries…

But the message is aloof

To its modest listener.

And so, the wind only blew softer,

Abandoning the message

But not the crow.



A silent crow perches on

the neighbour’s rooftop.

On a sky without any stars,

“Where is it bound to?” I ask.

A soft breeze blows by my window…

And the crow---

the black lone crow by the rooftop

Flapped its wings and flew out

Into another darkened night.