Wednesday by Soumitra Mohan

        Five times I kissed beneath her ear and
        touching the yellow egg with my fingers
        reached the ladder resting against the wall.
        After the mass moan I felt I was exhausted
        and couldn't fancy a sixth spot for kissing.

        What was easy to do? When I asked her this
        she began pointing out the qualities of the
        Arabian horse. Excited, I began counting to
        deliver some suitable Durvasa-curse* to the
        women passing by. When I was contented -
        right then did I write 532 on a piece of paper
        and put it in my shoe.

The early man severed woman from his limbs.

Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man

Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Man Woman

        When I gave her a close look I felt she was
        talking of February Thirty. But I was assured she
        wouldn't get metamorphosed. Waiting in the can
        of love-trash, this. My muttering turned her to a
        mere trunk. Where was it that I could kiss?

*An ancient Indian sage infamous for being grossly short-tempered.

Translated from the Hindi by Samartha Vashishtha