Feast of the Female

Along the process of evolution

A genre stopped midway

and, grew buds of laughter 

and love, as they flew past

horizons of water colors.

Lilacs, Lemons and Strawberries

and called each other Diana.

Women of the hills,

daughters of Vayu

and of the valley,

gypsies of flower gardens

and tastes of spice routes,

are borne of a race, unknown

to the domestic walls of 

routine and loss

As they move, in and out

of boredom and bedspread

to the kitchen sink,

they breed zygotes of storm

on their bath, breads and dinner plates.

The feast for the Gods,

that they serve upon their bodies,

in between the legs of the dinning table,

are nothing, but

routine rice puddings on skin

salt less and stale, for 

the lust of the other race.

To taste the female

you need to fly along

and cross paths of Odysseus,

wonderlands of Alice, 

and northern sunflower fields,

taste wine,

laugh aloud

kiss the air, and

copulate downstream

where the river meets the green. 


Diana- Goddess of hunt, moon and birthing and associated with wild animals and woodlands.