The muted drizzle brings to me
The sounds of the night,
As My Navy Cut and I listen;
To the story....the story of another day,
another fight ,another battle ,another epilogue.
The factories,the roads,the cash counters...
Are silent as half-dead human voices speak at last.
The laments of the drunken rickshawpuller,
The sobs of the bereaved mother
Who paid her son to the country for subsidised kerosene,
The lonely husband who awaits his wanton wife,
A young couple making love.
The sethji counts on....green notes...green leaves.
The beggar shuffles past small puddles,
Brown stains on grey pants.....
And a bright red heart with smoking black lungs.
And the night radio plays on...
Singing the epilogue to another day.
My Navy Cut and I...we burn on...
And the sounds of this wet night.
