Red Winged Crow

By Asmita Majumdar

A flash of brick in darken waves,

An anomaly in fowl shape.

Visible with the slightest squint, 

In broad clouds flew a crimson hint. 

Easier to yield at the barrel’s eye, 

Each day awoke thankful and alive. 

Nestling in its carmine feathers, 

It knew no sister nor no brother.

Never did it claim itself novel, 

Soaring at heights of parallel levels.

‘Crimson I, Crimson I, Crimson I’

Yet, envy rusted the purest gold,

Or so the story has been told. 

For the crowd too raised suspicion, 

Bare reason of thy rare disposition. 

You dare to fancy yourself special?

Claim a life above us mortals?

Think we haven't noticed you ply,

Sneaking off smears of scarlet dye.

While they all cried  ‘fraud’,

Red jittered, heart bared raw. 

Innocence pledged, was failed to see—

Struck down on a bended knee.

Red-winged’s voice too creaked,

Swollen, plucked at and weak.

‘Crimson lied, Crimson lied, Crimson lied’

So the false witch was hounded, 

Rended and racked, left confounded.

Wailing till the sun wept low, 

The final curtains drew on the show.

And of all the scene that was left,

Wisps and pieces of the hair,

Grimy with stain or with spill,

Lest it be too hard to tell.

By Asmita Majumdar