The Morning Crow

"The cock shall not crow, till thou hast denied me thrice."

There’s this brief moment of silence, when you wake up, having this emptied blissfully nothingness of sorts - all layered up in fragments of disclosed closures.

Out & away from these strangled discomforts, as I (a stranded soul) stood there outside the corridors of my house, looking onto the road(street) int the post wee hours of an early morning, trying to deep breathe in the freshness of the morning moistened misty fog(shades of grey). These humidly moist laden layered winds started hitting my face and unnoticeable set of clouds passed by as I gazed up to this smudged sky. Closing my eyelids with a sigh of relief, deeper into a wishful thinking, leaning down into the enclosures of my very existence of happy & grief. Thy lied-within, innermost dwellings that must have definitely had many a stories to tell surrounding itself with everything else that unfolded in its own series of story-telling. 

Resisting in refusal & denials to the unspoken yet cautiously paused and mum by the already forgotten night, stepping onto the morning still afresh and new, to all that' that was passe memoirs of a night before & everything else, which was much spoken never spoken of, seen-unseen passages of time, that had lost somewhere in the glorified sunshine peaking its way out from those golden outlined clouded skyline. One more day that made me a day older, and a day wiser,that had by now already caught my attention & attentively hinting me to take this break away from the daily chores of nuances that shall hit me soon or later. There we things that needed to be addressed & I needed to get over with, by the passing time of the day.

There came this crow, struggling with a yellow coloured piece of paper, that was lying on the road, which had something stuck on to it, assuming it to be a rat most probably, I vigilantly kept watching the crow attending to his activity in viciousness in its attempts, trying to get this thing off with his beak. He grounded himself on to the sheet holding on to it with one of his legs, while one of his leg seem to have stuck on to the sheet of paper too. The sheet went left and right as the crow moved & he was caught in a double whammy of sorts by now - to get his leg of the sheet, & then to get of its prey off the sheet. I stood there noticing his chore 'playful-wilderness' to break a leg. Meanwhile there was a group of several other crows that came down following the sight. By now, the poor crow had somehow got one of his wings stuck to the sheet as well and no matter how hard he tried letting it off him, he just could not. The paper wont leave him, glued along to the flights he took. Somehow he managed to take this short raised flight with him still stuck to the sheet, entering into this balcony of a next door neighbor & off the road. the rest of the crows followed him,and he was surrounded by an irony of kinds.

Everything was hidden behind those parked vehicles and shrubs, plants & trees so that was the last time I had seen him and not sure if he got the paper off him (rescued) or not & whether did he managed to have a good meal(breakfast)? or was it the other crows who made there way to it. I don't know what happened to this little fellow.

"People once believed, that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens, that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes the crow could bring that soul back to put the wrong things right."

Reminding me of this story about the crow ,who was thirsty and made his way to quench his thirst by putting pebbles in that pot, letting water rise, so his beak could apparently reach inside the pot and he could no longer be thirsty. 

Pretty much with a positive thought provoking folklore & the scene that I had just witnessed, I by now had gathered in me the strength & forces in spirit, positive vibes instilled with wit and efforts that eventually made it to the possible outcomes no matter what. 

"thee was like the cock who thought the sun had risen to hear thy crow"

I came back in, with a bunch of flowers that I had picked from the balcony, which were fallen down on the outskirts - placing them flowing on the glass bowl full of water, kept near the window, to my room, that had by now a ray of thick sunlight falling on to it.

Strangely I felt everything finally was making sense out of senseless nuances of a morning parody, that came into being by now so far.The crow, the wind ,clouds, flowers and the sunlight & everything else that came following me this morning, as much as I followed my footsteps leaving behind few memories of footprints & as the day passes, I make sure to have mornings which were one of this kinds & which lasted pretty good.

"Victims, aren't we all"- Eric Draven

Oh, something is there, waiting for me. Perhaps someday the revelation will burst upon me and I will see the other side of this monumental grotesque joke. And then I’ll laugh. And then I’ll know what life is. - Anonymous.