Her underwear is like Venus-fly-trap
Boys’ even girls are insects
The banquets table never empty.
Her underpants as white as Vega
Attractive special sacred like Veda
Sands of time thus forbids her
Skinny t-shirts, transparent skirt
Aroused a non-wood must surely be
Sands of time says she is death-defying
Her undies as hot as the afternoon sun
Red-chilies; demanding like bitter stout
Many been there like waves and ripples
If only they could speak…
The reverberation of the owls
Are signs of death.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem