I Do Enjoy Whisky And Dream Of Pretty Women Poem by Ravi Kopra

Green and violet dressed angels on the sea shore
gobble up all food - beans, biscuits, candies, samosas
soy sauce, wheat rolls, bread crumbs, ladoos, jalebis.

People on the beach can't do anything
for it is pitch dark right at dusk, and
the sky is overcast with dark clouds and thunderings.

Two little lighted lamps sit on a table
where I am sitting alone drinking whisky,
cussing my fate as my fourth wife Saleema

left me for a sultan in Aurangabad in India.
She was a bimbo any way. Why should I care?
I give hoots. A dog comes near my boots

To have crumbs of bread left by fairies
who with their fellow farishtas are on their way to
a cave to give birth to some barbaric faith in Arabia.

No. My poem is not true. I am not married.
I have no wife by the name of Saleema. Though,
I do enjoy whisky and dream of pretty women.