These Cuts

Just a few moments ago,
Hearing a sudden eruption of noise
I stopped washing my face,
Hit the tap on its head
And stood listening.

Crows. Making ruckus,
Bringing me back my cuts.
Each black flight a cut
From you, you, and you.

Each caw a wake up call,
A reminder that they await
For that day my siblings put out
Balls of rice, my sins wrapped inside.

Until that day arrives
I let each crow in, one by one
Cut their throats and prod
In each, for a kind smile
That you never bothered.

Raj Karamchedu