When it rains here once again
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And we trailed down that railway track on a cloudy noon
We weren't alone did you know?
In a place unknown to fog and snow
The weather had lost its temper
The train had been blinded enough to lose track.
Who doesn't know it's all a knack!
Derailed, they say.
Before the next I wish they simply care
These are not mere accidents you bare,
But testimonies you claim on a paid fare.
Indian Railways or any other for that matter I say,
When they pass the word 'happy journey'
We simply wish it's not our last.
When it rains once again here,
I remember the time we clenched hands that monsoon.
And I wailed down the railway track on that tragic day,
I do not understand which side to stake.
Or wish for summer once again in my life
Or curse the rails, frames and journeys that shatter.
Shatter! Solely due to human hands that fell short,
short to value the lives that derail.

A pine cone swept in the timber
in blow with wooden needles
that a lantern was the wiles of birch
along the frills of enlightened where spores till
this deadwood manufacturing transport
with a pipe cleaner's lore of trees
whether they intertwine on the carpet again
in loom to manifold in the soil.

Drag, drag, drag your boat,
gently through mud and **** that
before was a stream

Humpty Trumpty sat
in his gold penthouse chanting,
"We will build a wall!"

Old MacDonald had
a farm on cleared forest land,
E-I-E-I-O

Do you know the nut-/
gluten-/dairy-/egg-/sugar-
free muffin man? No?

She sells seashells by
the steadily rising and
trash-bestrewn seashore

If you're happy and
you know it, get a shrink; it's
2017.

the fissures spiderweb across
the glaciers, torn asunder
by invisible hands.
a rising tide doesn't lift all ships,
it capsizes them.
the fat cats will turn dead presidents
into sails to catch the earth's dying gasps,
but they will flutter, helpless
to progress in this disaster economics.

green business won't save us.
infinite growth on a finite rock,
a pale, blue dot circling until it, too,
burns up. the tires are spinning
in the mud. we've no other option:
we cannot reinvent the wheel—
we'll have to break it.

reformist logic leaves us soulless,
servants cowed by corporate forces
whose sole motive
is cashing in
on our projects.
they'll serve us up
without a second thought.
they'd raze the world
if they could make a profit.
fascism is capitalism
plus more ******.

we must admit our losses:
false hopes and letter-writing campaigns
are too little, too late.
a petition won't halt climate change.
beat their bombs with hammers
until they're shaped like plowshares.
the Earth will be consumed
by the sun long before
the State saves us
from our fate.
if we're to be prophets
of the future,
then it's time to ******* rage.

positivity is a plant without root,
withered petals dangling acute.
obtuse excuses are abusive homes
with leaky roofs and we're spluttering
in the gutter as our lungs
fill with rainwater.
integrity is small and it is fragile,
but at least it's foolproof.
i critique, therefore i am.
engaging consistently
in an emancipatory endeavor,
a liberatory tour-de-force.
false hope is a ******* noose,
endangering our biosphere.
the anthropocene is here.
we will not survive
if we remain aloof.
pursue truth.