My home grew wizened on its Vivid Bharati
Its highs and lows, the fluctuating waves
Its knob has forsaken us in our last whitewash
Cells heated in the sun turn silent by nightfall
In between the headlines

Cowering from the rough wind in the open streets, at the heart of Eindhoven
I stand near a large building of Philips Corporation
I walk the zebra-crossing ponderingly
Is it our Philips Radio?