This flood, you remark, is a deceit of water,
a licence, a latitude, a surfeit of water.
When the panchbhootas in the body bickered,
I put down my miseries to a conceit of water.
No amount of tears can guarantee your return,
I will refuse to mourn this obsolete of water.
Grief’s corridor is entered door after door,
every remembrance a tender repeat of water.
The rich are buying rivers in anticipation of war,
between the high and low born, an elite of water.
‘Al Atash! Al Atash!’ shriek memory’s deserts,
the Karbala’s calligraphy of the defeat of water.
Even Ganga could not keep the sons she birthed,
a man-god had ordained this escheat of water.
When in need of a witness call upon me.
In lies I will trace truth's concrete of water.
A day will come when this blood shall revenge
in every drop the faithless' mistreat of water.
We wait for forty days, forty nights of rain,
the parturition of Gaia, a complete of water.
(Basudhara Roy teaches English at Karim City College affiliated to Kolhan University, Chaibasa. She is the author of three poetry collections. Her recent work is available at The Dhaka Tribune, EPW, Madras Courier and Live Wire among others. Shortlisted for the DKM Prize 2022, she writes and reviews from Jamshedpur, Jharkhand.)
