But then, I looked around.
Nowhere I found,
Someone, noticing that poor crow,
Someone who was feeling sorrow,
For that tiny, little fellow.
Am I the only one feeling sympathy?
Maybe, I have too much empathy.
Sometimes I feel alienated,
And this feeling makes me frustrated.
Maybe, this is what, it should be,
Dead, every born, has to be.
Does it really matter?
Every life has to shatter.
But, at last, nothing matters,
Other than family and friends,
No one cares,
Everyone has to climb,
Their own stairs.
For our own game of life,
We are the players.
No matter,
How much money you earn or spend.
Someday,
Your body will mix with sand.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Crow
PoetryThis is a poem, in which I turned my experience of seeing a crow laying dead on wet street after a heavy rainfall, into words, in memory of that crow.
