The Majestic Crow
The solitary crow Sings as if it’s his first ever
Spraying his being upon the mere mortals out there
Unaware of their own thirst for the Art that he is
But never complaining is he really
As if it’s for the Singing itself that he ever began to offer his pristine soul
.
Day in and Day out he Sings in and out
But it’s never for the routine’s sake that he ever broke the dawn
And bestowed upon the mindless crowd the legacy of his symphonies
Who gives a damn if their boredom or rebukes aren’t the praises that he strongly intended for
At least it’s a clear signal that they’ve listened
Which in itself was a mammoth task for this day and age
The Credit of which he never longed for or desired
.
The mighty crow one day wants to fly till the zenith
Like those eagles do
It’s just that his responsibilities have overtaken him
Well beyond his stature and age
And that his heart ever longs for that one sincere ear
Willing to dissolve their differences till his toes
So long he waits
.
But don’t you misunderstand
At the end he doesn’t want your pity or sympathy
As it’s not the symphonies or the songs
Neither his being nor his might
That he refers to his art
It’s the Waiting…
And an ocean of it
Slowly dripping itself to it’s full potential
Where suddenly he is not the rebuked or the ignored
But that Majestic Whale !
Songs of which the very ocean takes up upon itself for it’s own glory
Howsoever Undefined or Disguised it might be
.