The Tanjore sculptor had his bronze dreams
His women needed such impossible bodies
They burned silently in blazing hell-fires
Their midriffs bore marks of mutilating suffering
Their globular breasts weighed down their hearts
Their eyes drilled into you in dilated horror
They loved him for his obsessive perfection
Castigated him for causing cruelty to their flesh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem