I used to love crows;
     I loved the way their glossy feathers
glittered in the daylight,
The way their eyes could
freeze a person's thoughts.

I used to love crows;
I'd read about their cunning ways
and how they harbour revenge -
I admired their loyalty to those
other crows that had been wronged by humans.

I was bewitched by them and their
croaky song,
A melody that almost foreshadowed the
downfall of the cursed.

I used to love crows,
But now I despise them.

If I could pluck each feather
off their haunted bodies I would,
Either to bring back what I've lost
Or just for the sheer pleasure of their pain.

Perhaps one day I will grow to
love them again.
But until that day,
   May God watch over the crows I cross.

The ignorant runs after pleasure,
Sinks into the entanglements of death...
the wise seek the undying,
And hence found himself.

The knower of self,
the self, which is here, is hereafter;
Hereafter is here.
He who thinks otherwise,
Wanders from death to death.