Sky-clad

Behind the high wall
Near the bus-stop
Still stands the tree
Carrying a crow's nest
On its crest,
Though now a bare sculpture
The leaves all gone
The bark coming off
From branches and torso
Giving it a leucoderma look,
In the evening
It makes such a silhouette
That even the weary eyes linger
On the river
Spread on the darkening map,
Black lightning
Frozen in the sky,
A metaphor, half-understood,
Hope, still hoping
Penance, awaiting
Perhaps, the next rain
To rise again.