I. Wailing and mourning tear
The wall but their cry for some help falls flat
Dashing against the eardrum
Of these white-clad heartless statues
Wearing but skulls of selfishness;
The House remains hushed
Housed in their heart,
Blind to surging, gurgling water of eyes.
II.
'Decent' pawns of politics descend
With some tempting bait
And cast fishing nets to catch the shoal-
Fresh or killed, dead or half dead
Or those wallowing in pain
Deadened in the poisonous deluge,
To be roasted and cooked
On the fear and fire of lusty politics.
III.
Even the Ganga has her hands in glove
With her ruthless sisters
As millions are killed,
More half dead among the dead bodies
Of their kith and kin
But man is such a wonderful piece,
-- a primordial stubborn
That he rises from the death-breath bed
And thatches the devastated roof
To sleep his scaring nights under;
He turns the powerful flow
To a different way
And finally usurps his own cropless land
To support his belly,
Standing on his staggering legs.
IV.
Floods may come and go away
But man has to live his life, come what may
Some may even die on the way
Some finally face the sway for their lifelong stay.
