The Final Flight

A mystic tale of ravens and whiskey

I am startled on my daily morning walk,

As soon as I round a corner,

By a huge raven — all majestic velvety black.

Even the beak & the feet sheathed in an aura of majesty.

Perched precariously on a white picket fence.

His intense gaze, piercing through my soul.

He was like God — filling the air around me,

With Majesty, Power, Indifference, Sarcastic look.

Unmerciful shiny Black eyes, a Stoic stance.

Just I had imagined the God to be like.

I did not share my curiosity or fire with it,

Because he was a Free Bird.

And I, a slave of earthly worms that he eats.

Was he waiting there to take my soul to the next world?

A flash or panic, tinged with guilt overcomes me,

Half eaten pint of Vanilla ice cream in my fridge,

And never any beans or kale or exercise.

Insomniac nights mingled with a haze of cigarettes, whiskey, Doritos.

Bodies melting in the drunken rapture,

A heap of unmet potential, unfulfilled desires.

What spirits or fate await me on the other side?

Although the candle has burnt, through and through the night.

And there is nothing left but the molten lava and ashes.

I whisper to the piercing gaze of the raven,

I am ready.