Beauty ain't no breasts
Don't go on searching out
Don't sail the sea hoping to find
Or jet the air to foreign lands
Virtuous ones are not yet born
The nazitees are birthed everyday
You just cannot talk enough
Talk of sex, talk of their wayward wears
Yet beauty's path cant be fathomed—
The Pinnacle of tower babel
As dancing kite in the sky
Like the feet of cobra on rock
Or of turtle in many waters
You ask of leopard head lying in pot
But never want to know all about
Few days when his hunt made meal
And thousand days when he slept hungry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem