The Ill Luck. Poem by Gangadharan nair Pulingat..

Tens of crows flies near the home
Only one takes some rest
That too near my kitchen always
The food articles thrown away as waste
Slowly eats in hurry and retreats
Sometimes crying for a companion
But the poor crow always misses
When I looked it closely
There I understood the problem
It had lost its one leg and suffering
And for such a living bird of suffering
The other birds opts it to neglect
Deserted to its own luck for life.