Aye,the singer in the train ;
The man with the strained throat;
Singing a melancholous note;
Carving a rhythm from the harmonium;
Holding an aluminum bowl for my coins;
Which may or may not come;
But you seldom stop;
You go on singing with the strained throat;
You the singer of the soul;
I would never see you after this journey;
But I would remember you for you gave me the song;
Aye the singer in the train;
One day you would die spewing blood on the tracks;
The train would run over the harmonium;
And you will be gone forever;
They would take you to the morgue;
And when you start decaying they would bury you among many like you;
One day even I would die;
On my soft silky mattress;
With my people crying around me;
They would burn me in ghee;
N post my pic at the corner of the dead in the drawing room;
N oblivion would make me a stranger among them;
I too will be gone forver;
In the deadman’s world;
We would meet again my singer;
N you would still have your song that would soothe the soul;
But I would not have the money of mercy to put in your bowl;
Death would have dispossessed me of my wealth;
But it cant take away the song from you;
For your song is your own;
While I was just a tenant of my wealth;
We would be equals in the deadman’s world;
N your song will be mine too;
The song of the soul….
The man with the strained throat;
Singing a melancholous note;
Carving a rhythm from the harmonium;
Holding an aluminum bowl for my coins;
Which may or may not come;
But you seldom stop;
You go on singing with the strained throat;
You the singer of the soul;
I would never see you after this journey;
But I would remember you for you gave me the song;
Aye the singer in the train;
One day you would die spewing blood on the tracks;
The train would run over the harmonium;
And you will be gone forever;
They would take you to the morgue;
And when you start decaying they would bury you among many like you;
One day even I would die;
On my soft silky mattress;
With my people crying around me;
They would burn me in ghee;
N post my pic at the corner of the dead in the drawing room;
N oblivion would make me a stranger among them;
I too will be gone forver;
In the deadman’s world;
We would meet again my singer;
N you would still have your song that would soothe the soul;
But I would not have the money of mercy to put in your bowl;
Death would have dispossessed me of my wealth;
But it cant take away the song from you;
For your song is your own;
While I was just a tenant of my wealth;
We would be equals in the deadman’s world;
N your song will be mine too;
The song of the soul….
