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THE WORMS: Poetry, by Kamala Das


tramonto1.1At sunset, on the river bank,
Krishna loved him for the last time and went.
That night, in the arms of her husband,
Radha felt so dead that he asked:
“What’s wrong? Do you mind if I kiss you, love?
And she said: “No, not at all,” but he thought,
“What does it matter to the body of the bite of the worms?”

(Kamala Das)


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