An Indian Kiss Poem by jan oskar hansen

Ravana, the Indian princess, who lives in
a palace just outside Bombay, has invited
me to her sumptuous home; alas, I can not
go, years ago, when in New Delhi, I kissed
a sweet flower lady on both cheeks and was
chased around the city by a mob who threw
sticks and stones, had to wear a false beard
for weeks and just made it across the border
to Moslem Pakistan. A court order to arrest
me, promptly, for lewd behaviour still stand,
so I guess my princess will have to come see
me at my modest cottage, if she wants a kiss
on her rosy cheeks; not at the airport though,
No! Goodness, Gracious Me!