India has seeped into my skin
Like constant rain
I am a monsoon man where
All about me is constant sorrow
And sometime joy
The beggar and the Brahmin
The holy and the fake
The real and the unreal
Here illusion rains into reality
As storm surges into light
Time becomes a meaningless word
A memory present is already the
Past
A face glaring in the mirror
A woman’s pleading in the slum
A walk under Tamil stars with
A holy man
And the ever-persistent dance
Of death
That snakes through her streets
Like some gargantuan fear
Denying the unpalatable truth
That this country is dying
With its mildew cities
Of crumbling brick and mortar
As east and west collide and
God lives in the terrible tomb of his darkest
Blood-soaked howl as a beggar with no eyes
And hands
Calling prayers of poverty
On to the fingertips of his lost angels
His footpath a call to life and the
Dangerous rain a call to life for what
Else is there but
Life
Because to roll
Over is not an option
Nobody escapes
Here
Everybody shits in the
Same river-rich and poor
My LSD is in my chai
It strokes my wild hair
I can leave anytime I want
That’s a truth not denied
Go back to suburbia
Get my dole check
Drink my life away
But India she never leaves
Me
For I am stuck inside her web
Sold souled and stroked.
for my friends.... 