A Poem from the Book:
“Through the Window of Taj Mahal” ( a book of 30 poems)
With a red spot on her brow,
A red apple in her womb,
And a red rose in her mouth,
She is returning from the tea fields.
The powerful softness of pythons
In the branches of her body
Sings some ancient verses
From the new Gathas*.
From her eyes
to the sun and beyond
All the stars turn into dewdrops,
And from her hair
Up to the crown of rain
The forest sprouts new leaves.
When she opens her arms,
Hunger falls into ecstasy of lust,
And through the window of the cottage
Death stealthily watches in her
The nakedness of love.
With a wrinkle on her brow,
A dry emptiness in her womb,
And a putrefied moan in her mouth,
She falls down the abyss of famine.
*The Gathas: hymns composed by Zarathushtra
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