An Avian Dirge Poem by Amar Agarwala

Below the banyan tree it lay
Ruffled feathers grey and white,
Claws clenched in a hideous way
Making a piteous sight.

Upon the boughs its mates cawed loud
Shrieks echoing in the green,
The jaws of death could not make proud
Nor paint its life with a sheen.

A crow it was, a slimy thief
An irritant to the eye,
It gave the neighbours some relief
Who had cursed that it would die.

Then came a bunch of rakish boys
Who were keen to have some fun,
The deadened crow fuelled their ploys
Lying stiffly in the sun.

A string they tied around its legs
And hauled it along the ground,
To swallow their fun to the dregs
With its mates wailing around.

Till they stopped at the village pond
With waters muddy and stirred,
A grave they dug with a wooden wand
And buried the wretched bird.

The raffish boys did then diverge
But the crows sat there to cry,
They sang their mate a soulful dirge
Though it sounded somewhat wry.
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