As I lifted my eyelids, adjusted my spectacles,
came out of my quilt, got on my sleepers;
As I walked to the balcony, calibrating my vision,
I saw no sun, but fog and rain.
With dankness all over,
I saw wet roads, trees, flowers, and roof tops.
Elsewhere, there was fog.

A crow perched on the balustrade,
of the welcoming green facade.
I didn’t move, neither the crow.
Quietude could be heard,
as I went into trance.

I was soaked in rain.
I moved to the other shelters, tree tops,
diligently avoiding the natural shower.
I crowed loudly, as the rain stopped,
syncing with and following my mates.
I crowed; I crowed again.

As I dived from the tree top,
I flapped my hands,
to move high in the sky;
surrounded by clouds and fog.
Nothing could be seen but grey,
cotton like clouds and untouchable winds,
played and danced around with their say.
I crowed; I crowed again.

As if I was in afterlife,
I felt dead,
I dreamt I entered the heaven.
Fellow crows its protectors and residents.
I let my hands be wide open in straight line,
my legs, knees joining each other,
I flowed like a stream down the hill.
I moved with the skill of a weaving mother .
I crowed; I crowed again.

Fog dispersed as I moved up.
Sun rays fell from front;
Behind, a rainbow appeared.
I flapped my hands to move
towards the variegated bow.
With the goal to touch it, feel it,
I flapped hard and again.
But it disappeared on the way.
It appeared again, I flapped again.
And it disappeared again.
I crowed; I crowed again.

I looked down and beyond,
under the blue sky.
Wandered like a vagabond,
from one city to another,
one monument to another.
I saw the premier, and his ministers.
I saw the ordinary, and the elite.
I drank when I was thirsty.
I ate when I was hungry.
I crowed; I crowed again.

Lost, with no legends,
I crowed for help;
None listened, no whelp.
I flapped again and went to the sky.
I flipped, I rolled, I flew upside-down,
I maneuvered zeroes and eights,
as I screwed towards the ground.
My hands on my thighs, my legs joined
like a bullet, I pierced the atmosphere,
nearing the large sphere.
Meters left to touch the ground, I opened my arms,
to flap again, to take the lowest flight,
but my hands no more let me flew.
I flapped again and hard,
with no wild card,
but my hands no more let me flew.
I crowed, I crowed again.

In that moment of despair and death,
I was afraid to hit the ground,
I was afraid to die again,
I was afraid of being a crow,
I was afraid of life ahead,
I was afraid of an end to this dream.
Yet, I crowed; I crowed again.

How do you feel about this?