I scribbled this poetry while waiting for the dinner ordered, in an Italian restaurant, last evening.
Purely for fun. I didn’t have Margarita last evening, I was not Indra in the last birth but am now with my own kingdom, though no Airavath, no Durvasa, no garland, no curse!
—–

Margarita* oh, Dear!
On my table so near
What a color so clear
Margarita, oh, Dear!

I’m Indra, sorry, I was
Dazzling king of the Dewas
Gifted me a garland Rishi Durwas
Amazing its fragrance was!

Urvasi danced moving her hips
Pomegranate seeds were Rampa’s lips
Tilothama’s breasts looked for dips
Menaka enjoyed Sura sips

Everyone danced, even my mount
Enjoying the curvy girls’ movement
Intoxicating was the flower smell
All we were under a magic spell

I forgot to wear the sage’s wreath,
Placed it on the head of Airavath
It’s smell went into its breath
He shirked his head, the wreath on earth!

Seeing his gift cast on the soil
The Rishi got wild, his blood boiled
He cursed me to doom, my life spoiled
Nosed down like a huge spring uncoiled

The Sage turned around and saw all dancing
He cursed everyone, his rage bouncing.
Forget my old story, now no dancing, no cursing,
Margarita dear, your look is amusing!

Margarita, oh, Dear!
On my table so near
What a color so clear
Margarita, oh, Dear!

 

 

 

 

*A cocktail

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