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The Kominas
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Par Desi
Of feedback I've had my fill, within a room lodged in a wall
somewhere in Central Square, where men smash six-string idols.
They tried to stomp me out, but they only fueled the flames
Boots crushing my shoulders, where angels chose not to remain.
Where do I point the blame, when men scatter like moths?
No time for 99 names amidst the noise and clamor
How'd I get here, from the land of long monsoons?
In Lahore it's raining water, in Boston it rains boots.
They tried to stomp me out, but they only fueled the flames
Boots crushing my shoulders, where angels chose not to remain.
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