The mafia capital,
Moves at a pace, faster than the wind.
The hurricane blowing, through every pupil,
The learning curve, change is. While in this
Sequence, of how villages are toppled,
Gamperaliya they call it, and the population rate
Slowing down to waves of intelligence and IQ;
Those degrees you laminate and hang on walls.
While the soot-black crows scatter at dawn,
With no intention of ever slowing down,
Proliferating like mad. How civilization
And its hitchhikers, share the same spaces,
How we live in a wasteland, that was ravaged by civil war,
And now, we look out of our windows every dawn,
To a cawing racket, as you become incensed looking out,
Through a crack in the curtain, prying
Like Miss Marple or Hercules Poirot,
At the relentless noise, of those avian demons,
Bombing from canopy tops,
In ruthless murders.