There at the bottom of great India-map
A sneeze had begun and handkerchief
Came up to our noses through the hills
As rain began pouring on slippery mud
Of tire treads, sins spread and stinking
Refuse home for the season’s new flies.
The clouds multiplied like flies in clinics
Of doctors heavy with tails in the necks.
Your heads swelled with loss of dignity
And your noses quickly forgot flowers.
You looked funny under a monkey cap.
Rivers flowed fervently in side- gutters
Flowing our filth back to the very noses
That had just sent away to other noses.
You missed the slum pigs that explored
Piles of filth, bringing their insides out.
We shall now bring out our sitar to play
A fine rain raga if the fucking flies let us.