On some days the weather is so bad
You just stare at the sky and curse the lords above who play poker with
glasses full of indian whiskey,smoking cheap cigarettes.

People park their motorcycles to the sides,
They wear raincoats,
With enough colours to make a man go blind.

I would like to write about the war in Ukraine,
About the children of Rafah dying on the streets,
About how Trump is gonna make America great yet again,
I would like to write about India’s democracy too,
The plight of Hitler and the hidden stories of the Jews,
I would like to write about how the media is fake,
The government a lie,
And the brainless people
Who’ve been listening to the same story
Since the dawn of human time.

I would like to write about how love is lost
And men are lost,
And women are lost.

I would like to write about the dying crow’s mother,
The red ant which was left alone and the man who was saved by drinking beer.

Finally,
I would like to write about the machines,
The Penis robots and the end of the world.

But I’m 15 minutes late for a job interview,
Where a bald guy will ask me:
‘Why should we hire you, pranav?’