Old Hindi songs
Wafting from a ramshackle radio
To keep company to the night watchman,
He watches us with his shy eyes
Dark holes of fear and greed.
We drift past him,
Carrying vegetables, books, babies.
Our blind eyes, never seeing him.
Lying in the cold, winter nights
Away from his young wife's warm body
Left alone in his little hut
Away from our cagey, warm flats.
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