The Black Crow Cawing Repeatedly Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The black crow perched on the boughs

Crowing,

Crowing and speaking many a tongue of its own,

Very often simply,

But sometimes in a strange tuning of its own,

Repeatedly,

The harshness is gone

As its tonal impact casting an impact,

It is twisting and turning the jazz

Into the blues

With a change in throat,

Change in voice

And is repeatedly cawing

As with a cliché,

The voice appearing to be a little bit musical,

Perhaps hinting it,

Suggesting so

The arrival of a guest

Who in turn may be wanted or unwanted,

Whose arrival awaited eagerly

Or seen with a frown.



The black crow cawing, cawing repeatedly,

Perhaps some guest is coming,

There lies the possibility

Of an arrival,

Which the bird telling of

Through its crowing,

A guest is about to come to

And his arrival await you,

Lo, he is seen there,

With a cloth bundle,

Embarking upon the bank of the river

And seen from the hamlet homes,

The traditional guest is coming

While on the other hand ha may be a city man

With an attaché into the hands of his,

Taking off his leather shoes

To cross over the dusty ways

And the sands to cover up!