There was no occasion for anyone to discern
Her cleavage, belly or loin,
All hidden in the fully covered saree.
Her bust, not prominent, makes no mounts.
The only parts that she reveals are
Her face and forearms and no more.
At the sight of her, so much excitement.
In the presence of her, so much vibration.
All her hidden treasures are bare to accuracy
In my memory and fantasy.
It is not glamour but modesty
That provokes a sensible man.
10.12.99
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem