Migrants

First published in Countercurrents, October 2020

The mass migrants to Mars
stood poised to take their first step.
The Red Planet crimsoned further
by the blood of scientists who
realised the vision of a
musky monied man odoured
with fame, made into godhead.
Out of deep freeze, led by the god
who saved them, stood more monied men.
 
They had left a planet in turmoil.
A methane-filled viral sun burnt with heat.
I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe —
became the norm. The cry of those
condemned to die in the coils of
poisoned air or floods that ate
the land. No place left to stand.
Reddened by sunsets on rising seas,
humans treaded water till deadened —
leadened by weight they sunk into
an Ophelia like stupor, the kiss of death.
Lands that glowed with heat turned aflame...

Click here to read the full poem

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