The Ides of March

the night pulses psychedelic
with lightning strobe lights

I wait for the drum rolls
but the sky is strangely silent

in God’s own country
in the land of hartals

it seems the God of Thunder
is faithfully on strike

as fields high with grain
ripe for harvest lie torn apart

by the unruly fists
of an angry Wind God

I think then of the Ides of March
how Caesar ignored the warnings

in the flashing light I look for
the writing on the wall

I hope it’s not ominous
I hope the Earth has forgiven us

our Caesar-like greed
our clawing, controlling maw

now parched and cracked
and thirsting for rain

praying to a bereft Rain God
now crackling in anger

flashing in fury
pointing sparkly fingers

at us who have robbed
our sons and daughters

of their unseen paradise
taunting, it is only just

that Caesar should die
so that the Earth may live

C'mon, don't be a silent spectator ....

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