The drops of first shower of the season
perched on her lips like dew drops on leaves
hanging from her sharp pointed nose
dripping from her short hairs in soft tumult
fermenting in the flame of her body
making wine with water, flesh and blood.
A wine you can sip with your nose
lips, eyes, ears or with erected pores.
How can a state ban this alcohol that moves
through earth, water wind, sky, and fire?
Her eyes are half open
frames, curves, swells are full open
ogling from the transparent skin.
Don't hold yourself, be lost.
It's raining, effortlessly molting a rebirth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem is a reflection on alcohol ban in Bihar relating it to the question of freedom of what one eats and drinks.