Homecoming in Six Notes


It is written all over, all over
When time negates all, but show I’m home
When, inside the old comfort zone is as clear as dear home
Outside when the crowd confuse
No more there is a worry
Of keys and locks; in making double sure
Of foreign eyes; racist sneers
No more nothing
But these unexpressed joys

The roads sway in November
And when I see them on rocking chairs
Little cold; little aged
And the unmatched greeting for homecoming
The whole world turns black
And all the lights focus, on my way
You do know one is not company
Yet it matters not,
I’ll be in the company of a world so familiar.

The way back home is always sweet
The freshness as the dewy morning grass in November
And you have all the expectations   
And you have all the entire world that adds to the heartbeat
You know it when you come home
But then familiarities breed bastards

And the colours are ever apparent every spring
And November is always with the winter
And the rain and mangoes have some secrets in summer
No matter in autumn on leafless days
No matter under the sultry sun of July

And the dogs are everywhere
The dogs in khaki are everywhere
The dogs are barking and frisking
The dogs are doing everything
The world’s got nothing to do
Let the dogs carry the whole burden of the whole world

The khaki is so common and the familiarity is breeding more bastards
But these days
Of festive fever
Of meeting the folks
Of every hue and shade
The imbalance is nicely equated
We do know the fleeting moments
It is all written in blood and bullets
I’m the blood and I’m the bullets
─The colours are variegated.

Worry-wrinkled faces
Oily skins, tanned unasked
Blown-out faces with excessive alcohol
With all the eyes at the centre
In gambling we are becoming one
We are depending on luck to be happy
We are ready to bet on our ancestral land
On our sons and daughters
On our wives and husbands
It is all an open secret
Our life is at stake

Oh, it’s an open secret
We have to pay under the table to live
We have to kill and rob in broad daylight
We have to live to live
We have to fuck everywhere

Oh! A tragedy! We look like no India
But more, it’s not what we look like
It’s what we live like
We live like the America─the poor America
We live like the Korea─the poor Korea;

Oh! A tragedy!
A tragedy!
Because we are not what we look like
And no more we are even what we live like
We are the Tarzan lost in a jungle.



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