I ride my bike to hang out with bicycles.

They ring their bells, I give them space.

Little flowers wave at me, I wave a little.

With a glass of poison, I wash my face.


Harder the rain, sweeter the sun.


Surrounded by four walls, still no home.

Silent rocks breaks my porcelain heart.

I push the needle of hope, then I roam.

It takes a glass of poison to stay apart.


Harder the rain, sweeter the sun.


Homeless words find a home within me.

Orphan red ink of mine wants to be free.

I get a call from heaven, I can't respond.

I am tied to the hell under the red pond.


Harder the rain, sweeter the sun.


I throw the sticks to some bonfire hearts.

They throw up blues on my entire shirt.

They are not broken, they are all golden.

History has not forgiven, it is not stolen.


Harder the rain, sweeter the sun.

© Soumojit Dutta