The Bad Girl - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
The bad girl of Mario Vargas
Stepping lines from the morning news-papers,
From whose page an art picture had been erased
Granite shelves of black and blue
John Grisham and houses built under a bridge,
‘I hate commas ending lines in a poem’
Me too, and Franklin D. Lewis is good at it
In his ‘Rumi: swallowing the sun’
A Rumi anthology. R. A. Nicholson at least
Attempts to explain the phenomenal ‘God love’.
Gloria Jeans of F-eleven is a hookers’ place
Without supposition. A woman with a goat face
And husky voice got up, to leave empty bottles
Of Nestle, advising the other to give it to the poor.
The sighting of a tightly worn stretchable jeans
Would yield a fungal smell from the loins
Of another woman holding a sheepskin bag
And Chinese hangings to it. She easily walked
On my toes, and might have left a curvaceous sketch.
I bought the Animal Farm of (forgetting the author)
Which might make me an outdated stuff
Wearing my sleep-suit and carrying ‘the while of time’.
‘If she offers me to go to bed with her, I will refuse’
I thought, and the while I talked to myself,
Eating tuna sandwich. I remembered Casper the cat,
Who was fond of tuna meal, mixed with sea-vegetable.
Vargas Llosa and Garcia Marquez had a fist-fight once,
Because Vargas thought that Garcia was seducing his wife
Or vice versa. The Latin American literature smells of garbage,
As our would be literature in twenty second century
Of buffalo dung. The hero hides in bins and live in brothels.
I was being chased by a man, whose sputum if tested,
Would reveal pieces of lungs coughing out
Because I was holding three books in my hand,
And was curiously looking at the lone star
In the upcoming spaces of the rising semi-urbanity
Mushrooming the growth and efforts of the pretentious
Rich to differentiate from all others in habits and talk.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about The Bad Girl by Sadiqullah Khan
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You