Homeland Rainfall
Hey!
Do you like the rainy season?
No. Never.
Why?
It is such a beautiful experience to be drenched in the sky.
Roads shine with the divinity's blessing.
Trees cleanse themselves in showers—
Their skin care routine arrives, scented with petrichor.
I live… in India,
Where the Rainy season is
A nightmare for us.
The sewage infrastructure collapses.
The vehicle sinks into the gigantic potholes.
Roads morph into torrents of filth.
Vehicles submerged,
Sometimes, some houses as well.
Potholes brim with putrescent runoff.
Traffic is the Basil on the prepared dish.
My city has three beauties:
Okhla,
Ghazipur,
Bhalswa.
People here don't know,
How to clean the home.
Oh!
The country is not their home.
But it is still a Bharat Mata for some
Patriots.
Here,
The empty plots turn into an unauthorised dumping site.
They take pride in surpassing an East Asian country.
How naive they are—
That country has written many books.
Ours is not ready to hold a pen of civic sense,
Let alone write a single line.
Railway is the cheapest means of transport
For some.
But the malodorous compartments advise everyone,
Travel at your own risk.
The Concept of Human Life
is anathema here.
But,
We will become Vishwaguru.
However,
The Mother Earth wears a gargantuan crown—
Landfill.
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