It must be the times

the change of weather

the heat of the moment

that sought solitude.

The oceans throw up

truckloads of S*** on the Versova beach

the air spits into your very eyes

chokes your throat, scowls right back at you

the rivers fling dead fish

the brackish waters fill the lakes

cancerous earth laces fruits with poison

the preaching of a god-no-more

the hope of a tomorrow-never-ever.

It must be that or the change of the weather!