The Ancestral Ravens

It was the last day of Pitr Paksh

The ancestral rituals were over

Pandit ji was fed

The cloudy sky, it looked

Could no more

Bear the burden of the condensing 

moisture

Afternoon was getting dark

Suddenly, I realised the cawing

I got on the roof

And saw three of them

Scavenging yet revered dark-hued birds

One on the electric pole

Other two on the neem trees

With a grey strip around their necks

I went near one of them

Thinking that they would not fly away

If by any chance they happened to be

My grandparents

But alas! they flew

How foolish of me to think

Of any possible way

Of the return of the dead!

But how could the little birds

Appear only on this almanac day

And not regularly

Is it because they are wise

And the Hindus in the region

Have been training their collective

consciousness for generations

Can a crow remember a day

Or is it because today is the day

So my mind is making me notice them 

only today

Or there is something that I need to know

There are positive vibes of someone's arrival indeed

Is it the new season of winter?

Or an ancestor?

What rubbish! I must concentrate

On the next competetive exam!