TWO STARS

Two stars partially shrouded with clouds,
Standing in the terrace to behold the glimmering horizon,
That was Sikkim.
Days after the torrential rain,
And death
People’s bodies were beneath the debris,
And trees
Be it heat or frigid, poorer dies.
But why?

Gingers and maize’s,
Their agricultural land was devastated.
Farmers, Oh!
They were the cultivators – the grocery hands.
They cried and prayed for rain,
But when it rained, they prayed to the Agro-God
To stop the downpour
Now everything is damaged.

No maize’s, no gingers.
No land and no cattle.
But HOPE remained in the waterlogged land.
They searched for the corpses,
Because they knew they’d find them.
After hospital, it reached home, shrouded.
Some are orphaned and some, childless.
Now people are homeless and rituals are conducted.

Oilcloths everywhere,
Blue and black
Same poor farmers stood in line.
Just to get one oilcloth.
They expect to avoid Avalanche after spreading it.
Oh! Darkness and rain
Once again,
what will become?
To the houses hanging in precarious state?

Will the rest of the farmers survive?
Will their houses sustain another rain?
Will a little survivor search for his parents?
Are the unanswered questions in this poet’s mind.
But I know.
Every one of us will wake up to a new tomorrow.
Alive.