It was a cold February day
when the war of words began.
In reality, boxing with ghosts.
Looking back, we realized
all the crows were gone.
We had never noticed.
There were so many things we never noticed –
shadows in the room, phantoms,
influence peddlers, spreaders
of misconception, missed perceptions.
Upon reflection, we realized
we had never noticed.
The crows were gone,
migrated to a sacred tree.
Carried across the divide
by a microscopic virus ,
a name reminiscent of Cleopatra.
Black-winged corpses strewn in yards.
It was already too late for the crows
by the time when we noticed.
It was too late for everyone
when the battles raged in earnest.
Life as we knew it was shattered.
Words exploded around us.
Phantom logic taunted us until we were heaving.
Sharp accusations stabbed vitals organs.
they tried to cast us out, exterminate us,
like the crows we noticed.
Pushed to the periphery,
epithets of ugliness attached themselves
with hooked claws.
yet we limped through, bloodied,
bruised, our spirits not fully broken
as we made our way home.
We hoped no one would notice.
One sunny day in April
years after the war began,
We stood sorting through the rubble
the crows had returned home (to us).