Starry Night Or Sorry Chennaite

The times twist and rise like rare tornadoes Timelines elsewhere just turn into homilies And the stars-turned-hearts are bleeding blues The happenstance-moon for once is not made of light to light up our home CFL’s The rain gods do not drop water bottles to the marooned; or the air, mantras, to reverse Rigor mortis. The sky, hawker of visuals, implores blind pathways to unchoke themselves. I bide time in my twelfth floor Himalayas. Kedar’s water demons come calling, metamorphosed into meteorology, dunking Chennai’s life in tears where float bloated the arid wits of the metro’s whirlpool gods. Note: Based on a Van Gogh painting 'Starry night', which struck a chord in me during the Chennai floods of 2015.