Jots down her providence with India ink
Ends this debauchery naiveté committed
In her sterile negligée, lavender and pink
Translucent tears on the fading papyrus
by the burning guilt of kerosene
Reflect the crystalline purity in her
And the frescos on bungalow walls obscene
Sealing the evidence of decadence with her lips
She kisses the envelope with an imperial stamp
With the servile butler’s senility molested
And thus escapes this Colonial vamp
She takes a sip of the impotence‘s sherbet
As the summer sun hides in an ambuscade
And swallowing the end of this interlude
Her Rolls-Royce follows my mocking tirade
Her deeds will make up for gimmicky folklore
And petty gossips concerning regalia bygone
Like her taxidermal pet cheetah, ornate,
Her lingerie once was an unassuming fawn
To Johannesburg! , where the reincarnated are born
And where the languid await a shooting star
No Brahmins there, to cleanse her Atman,
Just beguiling nightmares of the burning Chamar
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1 comments:
While going through it it seemed like a story, when I read it again, it seemed like a fairytale.
I love your usage of words and combining sentances into storylike poems. Wonderful.
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