Mary Annie A. V. writes

The crows' eggs

Long time back, 

remember us gazing 

into the crow's nest 

he brought down

after combing the tree clean? 

Remember our fingers 
touching the eggs, 
holding them in our palms  
all five of them 
still warm from the crow.

And how the eggs 
were left to remain 
barren and  unfruitful. 
though 
our palms nestled them, 
for days.

Little did we know 

little did we care then, 

for us it was 

just the childish excitement

of a nest and eggs.
 

But now  

having lived so long,  

I wonder 

what it would mean to us  

if our nests were  

just taken away, 

suddenly uprooted, 

our children left barren 

unfruitful, 

away from our sight 

while we circle around  

the tree of life 

searching, 

searching, and crying 

louder, than the caws 

that rent

the air above, then. 

And it fills me 

with such sorrow 

such shame 

that nothing I do 

can turn things around. 

My childhood days  

cannot  be brought back, 

the nest cannot be placed 

where it belonged   

with the crows 

to raise their young.

My future

to remain bright? 

  Les Corbeaux (Crows) -- Wassily Kandinsky