Ananya S. Guha- A Poem

Flood Times

Mother every day this time

of the year, the storm raging, 

gnashing is a repast, folly to 

many and the rains beat even 

the meteorological forecasts. 

Thunder and storm 

Thunder and storm. 

Cyclones in a neighbouring country

lash bodies, floods ensnare children, men 

and women. Mother everywhere the floods sink into 

an island, as houses are smothered into whirlpool 

of waters. 

We avoid the looks of guilt. What can we do

but with flailing hands pray for weather beaten 

souls, even as the newspapers ask for money 

to be donated for respite.

Who are those suffering

Who are those climbing trees 

to make homes

Who are those delving deep into hearts

that do not exist?