Poetry at Sangam




(Translated from the Marathi by Mustansir Dalvi)


I am the Jaquar hand shower
held by this luscious lady before me.
I shower her with kisses, kiss her all over,
roam freely over her tingling skin
as if to penetrate right through her.
Her body swells with pleasure
and I lose myself completely.

Satiated, she hangs me up
swiftly. I morph into a Welspun Towel
to rub her body down.
I wipe her down completely
my lips move over every inch of her.
I dab her and get moist myself, dab dab
I rub her and she rubs me down.

I rubrubrub her down roughly
and wait
to get at her last downy parts,

she moans with pleasure
as I get tangled in her down
and just as I am about
to burst myself
she casts me aside.

I writhe in agony
and suffer the cruel lady to return

just like you all,
hand showers and towels,
discarded in the corner
of Level 2 in this shopping mall.


I am a branded sofa
in this mall’s Furniture Zone.
For a long time this lady, shaped like a bean bag
sprawls all over me.
My nose is stuck in her arse,
I am suffocating under her weight,
O Lord, please spare me the hell
of her drawing room.
To please you, I promise
I will offer you 12 modaks from Ghasitaram,
I will feed 12 beggars McDonald’s Happy Meals,
I will offer myself to you for one night.