She was the perfect beauty
They said in unison…
But I don't believe in such rubbish..
So long as she does not fall upon me
As a mysterious kite from the sky;
I had stared into her eyes closely-
And found no passion inside..
She is not a tigress I think
And I don't like girls behaving
As doves-flitting on beds-flapping
Their egos and refuse to moan..
Beauty for me lives in a leaf-
That gets brushed against my
Youth as many times as I visit
The garden with spades and sickles;
Beauty for me hides in blade
Of grass as cold dew that sends
Passion up to my waist as
I tread upon it unknowingly;
She is no beauty so long as
I can't get essence from her
Armpits that she keeps tight for
A night of her choice to open-
May be waiting for her sixteenth spring.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem