A Song for Cornershop Girl

The shop is still there,
in it strange faces.
If the shop mattered,
strangers would be friends.

Like a man possessed,
I look for your face,
in those faces, hoping:
the eyes would match, it doesn’t;
the nose would match, it doesn’t;
the words would match -- nowhere near!
Even their songs are strange.

But I still go there,
light a cigarette
and turn my ear to the sky
and listen to your song.
I hear silence, so I sing to you,
silently:
I know you, know you O lady from foreign land
You live across the ocean O lady from foreign land…
Remember the Tagore song --
your song, my song?

I still hear silence.
I know you are there,
somewhere up there.
If you see Tagore there,
will you ask him
to write a song
for my Cornershop Girl?