The cat chose the two-foot deep pool of water
in that vacant plot to drown itself.
She did it with a purpose
which only time could unfold.
Rain, this monsoon, was for some reason
too upset. She wept in profuse streams
like a woman’s delayed reaction after her
beloved’s unexpected death.
The rain was also vengeful. It was as if she
wanted to take it on someone, something,
the injustice of her unwarranted loss.
So she battered the grounds that received her.
Wanted to swell the rivers till their seams burst –
and they did burst and storm into roads, bridges,
homes, schools, offices, levelling distinctions,
making the rich homeless, the poor refugees,
the well-to-do rethink their dreams of security.
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