Pain soaked rain, on the hills again,
The mountains are slushy mud.
People are dead, buried heads,
Buildings land with thud.
The river teesta in spate full of hate,
For the catchment area overrun.
Like pest the humans in jest,
Die, now that the river has won.
Dams half built covered with silt,
Weak wood bridges washed away.
Scapegoat "an act of god,"
The holy are heard to say.
Fun fact the rich intact,
It's only the hardscrabble killed.
The greed of building new buildings,
Drainage as always all filled.
Trees were cut, the slopes in a rut,
Now more boulders will fall.
Gravity for large rocks that love,
Making "people mat", that's all.
People complain always in vain,
The spin rhetoric quickly splat.
Government shows face, slick surface,
The officials in girth quite fat.
This now late the post flood fate,
Biscuits given out cheap.
Washed away the gods and rods,
Casual Sikkim now a casualty heap.
