'Delhi has been nice to me, ' she said
I agreed- some get laid, or else, get paid
Her distaste for ambiguity was apparent
She did not fancy it at present
The marinated milieu of our meeting
Provided the recipe for a tasteful augury
'The last thing I want is to be caught cheating'
She said, ending the nausea of threshold
There was nothing to say beyond that
Too much of wit is exhausting
Atheism was in doldrums
With a prayer at its edge, hanging
It was a bungled medley of mishappenings
There is real peril in such incandescent pleasures
Paralleled only by the first sneaky cigarette
And stultified, eventually, by its casual frequency.
With calm passivity she looked at the cup
Gaze distantly stuck in its lukewarm swirls
While I wandered in the dreams I had borrowed
From slumber over her shiny dark curls.
They will always tell you to be safe
And behave.
Some things almost work
Almost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem