• Indain love is always taboo,

    and smells of cardamom

    It tastes of chili,of spices,too.

    Come,it say softly.come.



    Indian love is red as rage

    and deep,deep blue as sorrow.

    It is not easy,it is not kind,

    it may not see tommorow.



    In Indian gardens,Indian love

    rustles like leaves in the wind.

    And should two lovers in that grove

    be bothof the same mind,

    the wind will have this tale to tell

    of longing,grief,and death:

    They loved not wisely but too well

    they loved to thier last breath.