The water now full of bones,
A skull talks wise and cackles loud.
Creepers crawl, a fight with brawl,
There's more rain and hate in the cloud.
People are all numbered now,
One, two, three, one lakh say, or more.
Who knows, who cares, fuck them,
For the poor there's never any score.
Only if you're rich or famous,
Then only you coax a tear.
How great was that man,
He drowned in a drain I fear.
Holy the cow, tits up now,
Floating as if a rice husk on tea.
But, no no no, don't simla go,
The hill station is under the sea.
Not climate change, holy heads nod,
But angry gods pissing in the sky.
Relax, we have been too lax,
To kill other believers we now try.
Hence you fill a form under water,
So we know where you're from.
If you are you know who,
We save you for a holy pogrom.
Full of it and more, fat ministers snore,
In dry dream served French fry.
The capital drown, Yamuna's frown,
Hopeless when the helpless cry.
Can't hide, put camera aside,
Like in other places they did.
This is the center, upended renters,
Can of sticky worms inside the lid.
Shelters like shit, too many to fit,
We didn't foresee Yamuna like this.
Diarrheal disease, and vector-borne,
People huddle and wallow in piss.
Holy our holes, the government trolls,
But they too in the wrath caught.
The flood rushes on, everything's gone,
The responsible run from the rot.
On land and on sea, as you see,
Bribed god and men treacherous.
Phallus in mouth the laity rush south,
Into the waiting three headed cerebrus.
In one fell swoop, the sordid loop,
The triangle is pristine and green.
The birds are back, nature back on track,
People forget and the repeats begin.
