The Indian Dancer

Passionate bosoms aflaming with fire
Ravishingly keen music, cleaving thoughts of desire
Unleashing his whip, swaying like the blossoms in shower
Dancing in ecstacy like a current in a live wire
Exquisitely, rhythmically, his feet do not tire
Now singing, now faltering, the songs of satire
Celestially panting in his typical attire
Enchants one, who wishes to retire

[Report Error]