Oh, so you are the divine beauty I read about
in adolescence, whom Toulouse Lautrec, Rimbaud,
Verlaine, Baudelaire, Van Gogh, Modigliani et all
held on to waist curvature and took flights to
healing sweetness ofinebriated light
blazing hallucinatory juice of green lichen
on the coloured thighs of sizzling dance girls
who broke rhythms and picked up their
contorted feelings on paper or canvas
At De Wallen crowds in Amsterdam
wide mouth I ogle at almost naked
showcased blonde dark brown ladies
sourced from all over the world
pink halo tinkling in semi-dark rooms
twenty minutes fixed missionary style.
I countEuros in my pocket and switch
to the old controversy of form versus content:
which generates more happiness and how
is Absinthe different from others?
The guide retorts, ‘Why don't you sleep
yourself and see semen turning green! '
(Translation of Sobuj Devkanya)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem