He sits on his haunches
Palm over the head.
The storm last night
Blew away his hut.
It was made out of straw
And some thatch,
It was no match
For the might
Of the raging monster.
In Sundarbans,
People become meals
For crocodiles & tigers.
I remember the ordeal
Of that woman in Gosaba
Whose teenaged son
Went fishing in the brackish water,
When a sly mugger
Dragged him to death.
Like the ebb and flow of the sea,
Life and death varies
On this tiny island.
But what do you do
When the storm pummels you
And leaves,
And you still have to be?
An anthropologist among the journalists 
Hi Vidya,
Wish to congratulate you on your poem, very well written and I saw you reciting it too.
Incidentally, I was also there on the same show and read, ‘The Boat of Delight’.
Just this morning, thought of connecting with you.
All the best
Harpreet.
that is so kind of you! thank you. I did hear you recite yours. good one! 🙂
Hi Vidya
I don’t have an account of my own.
Just in case you wish to contact, my email is available, here …
can’t find your email. do you mind typing it?
Hi Vidya,
Hope doing fine and writing oodles of poetry.
Is there any anthology lined up somewhere, dedicated to pandemic poetry or short stories?
Let me know pls if you come across any such thing.
Well my email was typed in these columns, and you could delete the info, after having it. If it’s possible at your end.
Thanks much.