A few sit in their drawing rooms
Sweetly ensconced with their loved ones
A rug casually thrown at their feet
Creating a perfect storm in a tea cup

While the imperfect storm rages outside
Uprooting trees, mangling stray dogs, cats
Along with many hapless humans
The not so sheltered, the not so blessed

The internet is down, the TV silent
Causing some minor irritation
A kind of ‘why did it have to happen’
Of all days today, of all times now

The other humans, the ones not so fortunate
Sit huddled in small groups
Beneath a ledge or in a government shelter
Waiting, praying, waiting again

Thinking with their minds blank
Where the next meal will come from
Where to find the money, materials
To rebuild their hovel, the place they once called home

Meanwhile, the storm continues unabated
Over that warm cuppa
About music, about films, about fashion
About heroes, heroines, villains

While the other half try to lean on strands of hope
For that is all that they have got
And an invisible god somewhere up there
Who may just condescend to answer their prayers

Subir Chakraborty
20th May 2020