Right outside, in your own lawn.
Leave all the communal discords and mishaps;
they are not a priority
See this rain? this storm? this thunder?
See how the gale roars in agony?
Every seemingly jolly day dissolved into this squall every night.
The bawling clouds and the rain-soaked mud last till dawn,
till the sky feigns a smile when the radiant sun emerges.
the sky tonight came bearing stones; hailstones.
The God of the Sky has finally broken down in anguish.
Water poured in from every crack in the wall.
Trees fainted from the torment of the winds
The warmth dropped, snow fell,
and the cold bit skin like a sharp knife.
If only the Foretellers predicted the rains...
If only they told us beforehand.
The only way to stop this ruckus
is to summon the Sky God, His Lordship himself,
and address to His distress
and to Hear His plea.
If only we knew when to fathom and when to act,
We would not have to go through this tempest that He created.
So many wrathful nights passed,
So many of His distress calls went unheard.
Nothing can be done now.
The Rains and the Storms have broken all hell loose.
It is too late to be bothered now.
Just let it be, and carry on like before.
This turmoil is bound to end
or bound to end Him.
It shall all stop One Day.
-Projeeta Ghosh Biswas