The Beauty of Crows

Who says crows are not divine?

Who claims their voice is harsh, not fine?

No—I don’t believe it’s true!

I’ve seen them in a different hue…

At dawn, when sunlight softly spills,

And golden rays kiss morning hills,

Birds take flight, the waters sing—

As if the stream says, “Come with me,

Let’s drift beyond this worldly spree,

Toward horizons vast and free.”

A dusty path lies long and bare,

It seems to whisper, “Walk with care.

O human soul, your journey’s steep,

But tread on me—your goal you’ll reap.”

Upon a wall, some crows convene,

In deep debate, intense, serene.

Some soar across the crimson sky,

As if the sun, in flying by,

Has mixed its red with shades of night—

And birthed a beauty bold and bright.

Yes, even darkness holds its grace,

In crows, this truth we now embrace.

If black were gone,

There’d be no night,

No moon, no stars, no restful rite.

No sleep for man, no dreams to chase,

No contrast for the white to face.

Black absorbs all colours whole,

It’s depth, its power, its silent soul.

Even the crow’s call, if you hear,

Can sound like music, soft and clear—

As if they say, “Come fly with us,

Beyond your narrow boundaries.

Let’s break the cage of thoughts confined,

And free the heart, expand the mind.”

Beauty lies in every form,

In sun and shade, in calm and storm.

Come, let us show you what we see—

And make your soul feel truly free.