No Wife But All Time Husband Poem by Subrata Ray

The husband was supposed to be home
The husband was supposed to be home
The wife did not know the dregs of the wounds
The Husband was supposed to be home.
The cultivated devotion starved to be soaked,
The pious Beauty waited to draw the yoke,
The big husband would come conquering New York.
In foreign land the husband had no wife but beds,
His necessity's masks wore multicolored shades,
In foreign land the husband had no wife but beds,