I do not cook poetry
like chana masala bhojpuri
poetry comes to me
when I see a beautiful lady
see a painting in nude
a pleasantly plump one
read a poem by anyone
walk in the rain and see
roses, lilies, daffodils
the spring breeze
the blooming cherry blossoms
fragrances, hills, mountains, springs
valleys, beaches, vast empty spaces
so inspire me, poems flow naturally
from my fingers like
a craftsman makes filigree
no garam masala, no chilli powder
no cinnamon, no coriander
just delicious rasam malai, so sweet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem