Harlot kisses after dusk,
It was almost too easy to give in to lust.
He didn't really think about those times,
walked around town with friends of a certain kind.
Old fast cars, sitting on the hood,
All the girls falling hard, he knew what was good.
Youth not wasted under streetlights at night,
Drinking any sort of beer, fun pals, a woman's delight.
He found her on the floor laying alone,
His pretty woman waiting by the telephone.
'Cause he won't stay true,
So she drinks all the red wine in the world under the moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When Paramahansa Yogananda would look you in the eye he would sometimes say, 'I am rearranging your brain cells.' Later I gained from this how the great yogis performed their acts of healing; but moreover, the manner in which one becomes the company you keep in ordinary activity. In that, going to bed with Johnny Walker all the time will invariably confound what may have been positive, healing, or creative influences - a loss of opportunity. But, so much is lost at that expense, I would still believe in getting out for a moontan now and then.