Crows at Bridge

My village has two flour mills,
one damaged and the second one
sounds as the echo of
undying steam engine
those sprout in almost all hamlets.

When my uncle Roulin
go for sawing
mustard seeds,
he troubled with the ghosts
of crows that
emerged
from the muddy land of past
and you know my aunt,
prison warden who has
a couple of
lesbian black moles
on her left thigh

Good Friday;
evening five o clock,
when I met seema and
her son Janakan
nearby Theresa
flour mill,
a crowd was marching up
from the down street
as a colony
of ants!
and there
was a news for
you that
the potato eater, Vincent
killed himself