Constant rain

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



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




Because to roll

Over is not an option

Nobody escapes



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



For I am stuck inside her web

Sold souled and stroked.

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