A girl is a mango infantile,
That tastes in pickles.
A lass is about ripe mango,
That tastes in curries.
A woman is a ripe mango,
That tastes with its flesh.
At forties as juice and at fifties
As jelly, she lingers to my taste.
Even in sixties, she is like mango-essence.
In seventies, as endosperm of its nut
She still taste though differently.
Woman to men is evergreen.
29.05.2001, Berhampur
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem