Guests Poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam

They dance on the balcony rail
Cawing to draw attention
One has a distinct call
Like a personal ringtone
That it makes
When it is very hungry;
I see it peeking through the wind-blown curtains
With an oblique look
Certainly suspicious I am eating alone;
I keep a conversation going:
To every persistent cry, I reply
'Just two more whistles' or
'The sambar is not ready'
Sometimes I angrily ask
'Are you my mother-in-law? '
When it raises a racket;
Finally when the cooking is done
The crows get served first
It is a joy to watch them savour the meal
Always, gracious guests
Without any ill-mannered complaints
Like from the human kind
On it being too hot or lacking salt
Not once commenting on my complexion
We both share with the celebrated cowherd
And which even his white-skinned devotees
Do not mind or pretend not to mind