Nice To Meet You

I had heard of Black- beauty From highly learned men And, a twiggy oily figure! I have always appreciated. City-women walk in style Wear stylish and talk in style, A Cow-boy shall always commend! But I have somewhere read, An Indian American poet to his Syrian wife wrote An unknown love poem! Blaming her of dating once A Muslim friend. Therefore ere we may walk together any more, Tell me, for instance! Have you visited that saint’s shrine? There, near your abode, The fort’s on the Rocky Mount; Climbed those hundred-fifty stony stairs? Yes! Many many times, in that sweet nonage With grandma. And nowadays on almost all Sundays In the evenings, with my mom. Ah! Ah! Then you must have Fed the wild- pigeons’ flock, corn; Helped the lame, blind beggars with coins, and rice; In the festivals’ nights Served the waking worshipers—coming from the far villages in country, Fried in ghee, the rice, And in Samovar— Kahva! Yes, my dear Yes! I have, I have, I have.