The skies now dark with swollen grief,
Rain lashes roofs beyond belief.
The monsoon comes not soft, but roaring seas,
It spares no home and trees, nor man, nor child.
Before my eyes - truth too raw to bear,
A mother staggered through the despair,
Clutching her sack above the flood,
Her last few grains, her sweat, her blood.
The fields we tilled...
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