Sandy
Superstorm Sandy
You are a blessing
To sensational journalism
And reporting
For those who indulge
In prophesies
Of wanton apocalypse
The likes of you
Have had several landfalls
On Mother Earth
Even before
And yet at any time
One of you ransacks
Our comforts and pleasures
We come out of our homes
Hold a microphone
And cry out aloud
The end of the world is around
And here I sit
Looking at an overcast sky
Half-naked in heat
Somewhere in the south
Of the poor Indian subcontinent
Where the mountains still breathe
Sultry warmth in passionate fervor
At a time the North East should pour
Her bounteous benedictions
Alas! Only barren clouds overhead
Unlikely to deliver
A much needed shower
Sandy
Why don’t you cast
Your looks this way
So that our kids on the streets
Naked to their hilt
Dance in a deluge
And forget the fire
In their stomach
At least for once?
We don't care much
Accustomed to wraths
Of Mother Nature
No one here holds
A microphone
To lament our deaths
Sandy,
Am I asking for too much?
Won't you just look our way
And shun the TV gibberish
To embrace us, the impoverished?
(With profuse apologies to those who have suffered at the hands of Sandy)
