At this age, this time
of the day
I turn towards Nature
beside me to stay.
When family humans
float around on conceptual islands
it is the crow, the
squirrel that save me from emotional drylands.
Just the other day, a
young crow cawed bitterly on my windowpane
I wondered ‘cos I had
already left food on the steel plane.
Peeping out to see a
scurry of squirrels munching hurriedly on grains
leaving the poor crow
agitated finding hardly any refreshment remains.
The striped squirrels,
in no mood, to relinquish their share
unmindful of others,
downing edibles like hungry hare.
With no support from
the anthropoid kind
the crow picked up a
squirrel with its tail in its behind.
A jaw-dropping scene
it surely was
like the killer whale
striking flesh in Jaws.
Moving back to my
daily quietus
I floated around in a ritualistic riotous.
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