Thirty nine Krishnachura survived a storm
Only one of them didn’t follow the norm.
Our neighbour’s T.V. got stuck by a thunder,
They yanked the computer plugs, to prevent another blunder.
Their nine-o-clock stank on their roof in the morning
It was dead, like each and everyone in her ring.
The girl next door wore black nail polish-
And buried the black cat that never stole a fish
Our lane is paved with brick and slab,
With one lost, it had become a trap
A trap, I thought, where their feet will get stuck
But all walked by with plenty of luck.
Our roads are narrow, houses are small
Our lamps are dim, and trees are tall.
As pages turn yellow, smart phones rule
Our fridge is empty, our mind is full.
Our food lack salt but the air does not
We don’t drink enough, but our eyes don’t accord.
Our faith is whole, our sighs are long
Our hopes are right, but the truth is wrong.