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!