Two stars partially shrouded with clouds,
Standing in the terrace to behold the glimmering horizon,
That was Sikkim.
Days after the torrential rain,
People’s bodies were beneath the debris,
Be it heat or frigid, poorer dies.
Gingers and maize’s,
Their agricultural land was devastated.
They were the cultivators – the grocery hands.
They cried and prayed for rain,
But when it rained, they prayed to the Agro-God
To stop the downpour
Now everything is damaged.
No maize’s, no gingers.
No land and no cattle.
But HOPE remained in the waterlogged land.
They searched for the corpses,
Because they knew they’d find them.
After hospital, it reached home, shrouded.
Some are orphaned and some, childless.
Now people are homeless and rituals are conducted.
Blue and black
Same poor farmers stood in line.
Just to get one oilcloth.
They expect to avoid Avalanche after spreading it.
Oh! Darkness and rain
what will become?
To the houses hanging in precarious state?
Will the rest of the farmers survive?
Will their houses sustain another rain?
Will a little survivor search for his parents?
Are the unanswered questions in this poet’s mind.
But I know.
Every one of us will wake up to a new tomorrow.
Poet’s Note –
This poetry is a tribute to the ones who lost their lives in the landslide on 1st July 2015 in Darjeeling hills. The torrential rain killed 30 people, 10 are still missing and 16 are seriously injured.