from the slums of Calcutta
to the towers of California
there are only the cosmopolitan cries
of beggars and bastards
and the clock is ever counting
on the third flank of Waterloo
in my city of bones and bullets
warships wreck the winds
and astronomy dangles
from frozen clock hands almost everyday
the messiah comes at midnight
to build an island of false promises
and the vermillion rings of Esplanade
are an unscripted altar
for bandhs and bull-fights
not every man
is a poet or a politician
but the epics need one badly
every hermit
is a hooligan at heart
Caesar or Hitler
no longer humble me
and Mozart or Milton
humour me no more
for blood is the latest calligraphy
on cyber cenotaphs
I search for a place
to hide my history of nuclear robberies
from the breathlessness of New York
to the pacelessness of Nandigram
there are only the sickening scowls
of unicorns and eunuchs
and the clock is ever ticking
even on the mantelpiece
of your drawing room
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