Monday, 25 May 2015

To Persephone a pratishloka

That April's Sun with heavy hand
Now  belabours Winter's tardy trainband
Shames thou, Kulashekharan, who like James the Second
Dispels not the Dryden darkness Poverty is reckoned

But, rather, like unto a butt-hole waxed and bleached
Straining at Sermons Porn will have preached
The Deaths of Timur's Captives crossing the Hindu Kush
I'd die, Mrs Bhatnagar, up thy Hindu tush.

Prince! As to Asclepius a cock & to Persephone a pratishloka
A poker up the arse is what you owe Emperor Ashoka

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