Bob Dylan/ the beggar and the lost

Contorted body beautiful begs with open palm my eyes stare in terror

I flee from my own darkness a Charlie Chaplin hopping away from pain

I’ve got Dylan in my backpack my constant companion

Through the hells of Kolkata streets I fumble with love minus zero

Chanting it like a Brahmin priest

While I ripped the plaster from my shattered leg

I sat and cried in unison with the beggar

A face I could not see.

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