January Blues

The professors, they keep writing good books
and the singers , they sing old american blues
and im worrying bout money to pay the dues
my landlady not at all she is cute

my kitchen tape leaks like it is pouring rain
As life leaks away as i remember WH Auden
when ever i have headche and worries bout life
“Oh It cant be life, the picture can't be my wife”

My skin is thick even for this coldest winter
but my thesis is too thin, I can't be a winner
yet i wrap around my neck the used mufflar
And walk like a handsome man in Manchester

Summer's gone but somethng bout it is caught in spiderweb
like a helpless fly, but i feel not so bad or sad.
The pickle of colors from the jar, listening to Dylan's Joey,
I apply on my body, no im not trying to David Bowie

the coins make noise
as the bullet hits the child in joy
It is the voice of innocence
robbed by violence

the hot sweet cup of tea turns cold
in the callousness of my thoughts
my colorful friend in orange hat comes so bold
He abuses the country calling it a fraud

The french philosopher was not funny at all
but few laughed like they were doing him a favour
and the post-talk tea was good, even the woman in shawl
and the pakoras on my plate said “Politics of Nature??”

Strolling down the narrow lanes of Darya Ganj
I look for a better capo of my life to enhance my soul
They were too expensive, more than the air gun
Then, across the road i saw a wine shop

Again my broken phone LCD beeps
calling me once again to Jantar Mantar
to sing out the heart beats India has skipped
So here I am whether it is summer or winter

“Im getting wiser day by day
as i m getting poorer day by day”
I sing out loud with the father of two girls
and he says “Godamned Renaissance!”

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