On a gloomy overcast June twenty nine,
The skies opened to pour into Bombay.
But that doesn’t mean that all is fine,
The news is assorted like any other day.
A tree fell to kill a twenty-four year old.
Train services and roads were badly hit.
Though BMC promised all would be fit,
The cause: just 75 mm of rain, we’re told.
Lighter side: Petrol prices fell by rupees three,
But for Mamata, it’s still not satisfactory.
To presidential elections, attributes the queen,
Since they are scheduled for July nineteenth.
The fabled monsoons of industrial Bombay can deliver
Death blows. For we’re still agriculturists, remember?
Now they’ve found a fat scapegoat
To book for criminal negligence –
The agency maintaining Mantralaya’s switchboards.
How easily they insult our intelligence.
And near Bombay, in rural Maharashtra,
The Konkan Irrigation Development Corporation’s
Blessing of a supplier faces investigations –
Increasing payout 500% after contract creation?
What’ll now submerge thousand acres of forestland,
Will enter history as Kondhane Dam.
On ethics, giving states a pecking order,
Is a task as vague as the Chinese border.
Better progress is made, with energy we’ll burst
Reversing the order, starting with the worst.
How man doesn’t see the earth from the air
From the aircraft that he only invented,
And misses the ravage he’s caused everywhere,
On a planet, so excessively inhabited.
Compelled, now and then nature gives
Hints, we still turn a blind eye to.
Stolid, cretinous, and filthy as pigs,
Failing to see what will eventually brew.
We’ve excavated deeply, despoiled the earth
Even though there is no dearth,
Of places that we occupy already,
With needs and wants of the terrifically greedy.
But when water flooded in from the sea,
Still we exclaimed: what can the matter be!