"A profound unmitigated loneliness is the only truth of life"
- R.K. Narayan




O dear breast of a woman,
Oh! you,
gentlest of God's creations,
How do I sing your ode?

I wonder
how
being so docile,
warm,
you can foment,
such raging lust?

How do I sing an ode,
to something,
so silently wild?

I wonder
how
being so fulsome, serene,
can you harbour,
the tempestuous heart beneath?

Even the great mountain erupts
when lava heats it up;
but you never lose it,
not when innocence sucks,
nor when passion bites.

How do I sing an ode,
to something,
so wildly silent?

I wonder
how
you can bear, more or less,
the same shape in all women,
yet,
entice men to want
to see them all?

How do I sing an ode,
to something,
so endlessly alluring?

I wonder
how
you're ripe all the time,
never going stale,
like everything else in Nature?

Hey,
are you that buxom apple,
that hung ripe on Eve's chest,
and aroused the serpent in Adam?
Whence he committed Original Sin,
and blamed it on Eve?

How do I sing an ode,
to something,
so alluringly endless?

Are you the reason,
why children
start off with drawing mountain valleys?

O! you breast of a woman,
How do I paraphrase you?
You are
the picture
that transcends a thousand words,
the love
that weighs down a billion bosoms;

Whatever I say, however I express,
would seem prosaic
in comparison
to your silken persona,
to your supple aura,
to your lascivious poetic charm.

How do I contemplate you,
without getting bewitched?
How do I describe you,
without sounding vulgar?
How do I define,
something so wholesome,
with my limited language?

In your presence,
I have nothing to lose,
but myself.
So,
in every moment passing
if I am not even myself,
how could I
even
think of
singing your ode,
singing any ode,
Oh! dear breast of a woman?
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