Phailin Coming Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The birds are twittering and whispering,
Seeking shelter from,
Cranes flying high and returning
To their nests,
Crows in a harsh voice
Telling of the forthcoming disaster,
The winds conspiring and howling,
Shaking the trees violently,
Sea waves swaying and surging,
Ready to strike as landfalls,
Clouds floating, gathering and massing,
Ready to burst timelessly,
Rains splattering
With the big-big never-ending drops,
Rivers to swirl and overflow
As unable to control and contain in excessive waters
And the man-made hazards
In the form of wires and towers to take a toll on.

Sir Phailin, gathering in the distant, in the seas,
Far off seas visible from Orissa,
Sending signals to the weather men and the frog men
That I am coming,
Talking over the phone
Warning the telegraph department men,
Sending telegrams
Or like a dacoit
Getting the post-card sent across
That I am coming
Not with American Katrina or Swetana
But as a far-east man
With his Mongoloid face,
A ruthless Tartar
He is coming
With his bulgy stomach
And the French-cut beards on the chin,
A black belter, a martial arts specialist,
Challenge him not.

Take him for Mr. Tycoon not,
As he not a rich man of the world,
Nor has the assets,
But Mr.Tornado,
A devastator,
I mean Mr.Typhoon,
Owing hierarchy and genealogy
To storm, tempest, cyclone
Turned into a tornado or a typhoon
Uncontrollable,
The pressure one of high pressure
As for the black deeds of man,
His sea beaches and restaurants,
Tourist spots and picnic spots
And the deforestation done.

Man fallen at the foot of his
And he drunken with his power
To toss and puff off
Whichever comes on his way,
The lamp-posts uprooted,
Boughs broken,
Roofs blown away,
Towers crashed,
Houses damaged,
Ships helpless before,
Unable to furrow or plough,
Sinking, capsizing,
The crew men sending SOS,
So ruthless and full of prowess
That he can shake it well,
Man helpless before him
And the world a ground of his tandava,
Destruction, doom and desertion.