In the sweltering Indian heat,
In his bungalow room where they’d meet,
They made mad, torrid love,
The fan whirling above,
Their sweat soaking the thin cotton sheet.
Tag: India
Tiger hunting
How one loved to go out on safari;
Tents, jungle, the nights vast and starry,
Astride one’s best horse…
Take a woman, of course;
Strange dark flesh, when one takes off her sari!
The colonialist
He’d seen Bombay, the East and West Indies,
Screwed black girls, and yellow, and Hindis,
All nice, in their way,
Best to root, though, he’d say,
Sultan’s wives, wearing naught but their bindis!