These are the days of cloud bursts;
The smarter that the prowess
Of push pin gets, the angrier
The elements snarl, like wounded
Leviathans at the end of tether.
As nation after nation firms her resolve
To corner the earth, the mighty Boson
Screams for retribution. Where human
Agents fail to rein in globalised greed,
Tremors from below earth and ocean
Enhance their visitations to punish
Our self-destructive deed, fuelled
By this or that unquestionable creed.
Monster banks of clouds change
Their hue from grey and white
To war-like saffron and dauntless green;
As they clash, hot head to hot head,
I see the firmament pour in torrents
Of blameless, innocent red—
An alchemy of colours piteously seen
When we awoke to life and freedom.
And among us I do not see the old man
In the loin cloth, stepping among
The gnashing teeth and blazing machetties;
Dousing in miraculous embrace the very
One who set Calcutta on flames;
I only see the heinous games
That petty satraps play to fuel unease.
Perhaps some end is in sight; perhaps
The blood will wash the strident blight.