I bought a book written by
you,
On whose wrapper your face at
sixty,
With a stud on left nostril,
the lock
Utter black by dye, in loose
knot,
And lips as fleshy as your
cheeks,
Stared at me, sultrier than
any youth.
How sexier you must have been
A decade ago, two decades
back
Or at your thirty, let alone
twenty!
How fortunate those must have
been,
Who revolved around you then!
How many wooed and how many
were
Voyeurs!
Is it your exceptional
intellect
That keeps you alluring?
Is it your matriarchal Clan
That keeps your eyes sensual?
Is it by your sensuous poems
That you look sensual
Or is it by your sensual and
sensuous
looks
Your writings came to be
sensual?
I read your poems sensually
With your sexy figure in
thought.
I read your face sensually
With your sexy poems in
thoughts.
You or your verses, which
tempt more?
‘Age cannot wither her, nor
customs
stale
Her infinite variety’
8.11.2002
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