The delta fails to drain the monsoon’s storm
and fetid wetness saturates the air.
Kolkata’s roads are flooded filthy warm;
the ***** water’s waist deep everywhere.

We leave the inundated coastal plain
and fly to Dimapur: our journey stops.
My aunt and I must wait while we obtain
the area restricted pass: time clots.

Detained in an hotel we watch the roads,
from our imprisoning rooftop strewn with junk,
we see the rickshaws carrying their loads,
like toiling metal yellow beetles; cyberpunk.

Our documents arrive, we're on the way
on up the jungle river's steep roadway.