We climb the Koro hill.

Forty years and still ascending
gives a good feel.

We stand under a Madhuca tree
blossoming in March heat and rain.

From the hilltop
the valley down below
looks dreamy grey.

We've greyed and graded
past full bloom.

In the wafting fragrance of Madhuca
we pray to hold on
for some more.

It
eliminates
everything
in it's wake

still these
unconscious
idiots

contemplate
more champagne
for their next date

while the rest of us
gnash teeth as the earth shakes.