Poetry

After the ammonia leak, 
there was a visual hallucination. 
An ad hoc proxy of stardust 
will not settle on the lotus. 
 
I grieve for the sobbing moon 
who was kept waiting to― 
wash the feet of a sunken god. 
There were no wreaths for the departed. 
 
Death had a debt to pay, 
to a hungry child, who was 
given a chance to see the light, 
but was not fed by the night. 
 
To perpetuate the crime, there 
was a syndicate, who would bet 
for the nested game, in lieu, 
of wiping the green tears of earth.