a poem by Sankhajit Bhattacharjee

Water has entered like a wild horse
Into cities, villages, fields, houses…
Has wiped away like a whirling wind
Crops, animals, connections, lives…
Traffic is now water connected, like Venice.
They come in tortoise-pace with partial black hands
To provide aid, to rescue…
Some come with broad mind and open heart.
News is often falsified.
Creators are safe, innocents are victims.
Most remain confined; rather they wish to be-
Hunger, disease, breakdown and loss accompany them.
A small piece of land is now heaven.
The head of the institution is hell.
The referendum is Almighty oneself.