“The Crow and the King” by Krishna Bhaskar is a whimsical, mysterious tale where a sharp-eyed crow becomes a messenger of fate. It’s part riddle, part revelation—and all heart, set in a courtyard where silence often says the most.
A crow flew in the courtyard
And landed on the chair
There were some playing cards
He gave them a glare
His neck has a shine
His beak is always clean
I’ve seen this crow before
I know his routine
I throw a piece of toast
Gently and a feet away
He is brave but careful
Never trusts anyone
Almost hostile, his sway
He moves close to the toast
Picks it up in his beak
Throws it back on the chair
And starts to speak
Caw Caw Caw
And then the strangest thing I saw
He leaves the toast
Picks a playing card
Almost prepares a roast
Drops the card hard
And leaves the yard
It’s a King
It’s a King
It’s a sign
It’s a sign
So I sway
The move I play
I throw back the card
In this gloomy but flowery courtyard
And I yell
Holding good cards is not my thing
Holding good cards is not my thing
I am not in this game to have a win
The echo or I thought so
Only silence replied though
Some stories have no meaning
They are never to be told
They play pretty but quiet
And never unfold