Where half the job stays undone,
There I find hope rekindled
For soon there will be Monsoon showers.
The children play, their sweaty brows begotten,
Mothers nourish them quite forgotten,
Soon as the teary skies, reddened by the sun
Sprinkle love down Bombay's noble gutters.
In gutters where many a man had lain,
Footloose, abandoning his mortal pain,
Soon as drops tickle down his toes
The summer madness must die down.
In the changing weather patterns of Bombay's sun
We would soon seek some shiny rays on us,
There is always hope in Bombay's tropical sun
For all ages alike for where there is work there is fun.
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