New Road has been swept and is outwardly clean;.Girls come and go in the dusk,.Khichapokhari gasps for breath.Amid the smoky sidestreet houses,.Dark and malodorous,.Like armpit hairs in a sleeveless blouse..In the shops´ display windows,.Suzy Wong smiles, a Hong Kong beauty,.Madam Nylon, Miss Terylene,.Innocent virgins, virgins with loops,.Arms bearing prints of penicillin´s advance,.Stride toward the dark alleyways..A flower-baby hippy walks down New Road.In the arms of her prince, engrossed in a trip.Half-naked in a saffron-blouse,.Her brassiere´s baskets lift the stale fruits of youth..Every eye in New Road is fixed on her navel;.Adopted sons around the pipal tree.Stand seceretly thinking lewd thoughts;.They sprout up from behind benches..The filth thrown up by P.S.K. Drainage.Regards the day with jaundiced eyes,.Opening a newspaper´s pages..A beggar woman stands by the News Centre;.She X-rays a hard-up Nepali´s pocket,.And begs for five paisa..Then the poor man puts up a ballon of abuse..Up into the Kathmandu sky..He turns to the lottery stall,.Whence his fortune might come,.And finally spits on himself..I see no point in loitering Tound here.So, to give meaning to the word "home".(home by day, bar by night),.I make the labour of a new verse into some beer,.And I drink..Then I pace out New Road, Plotting a poem.
New Road has been swept and is outwardly clean;.Girls come and go in the dusk,.Khichapokhari gasps for breath.Amid the smoky sidestreet houses,.Dark and malodorous,.Like armpit hairs in a sleeveless blouse..In the shops´ display windows,.Suzy Wong smiles, a Hong Kong beauty,.Madam Nylon, Miss Terylene,.Innocent virgins, virgins with loops,.Arms bearing prints of penicillin´s advance,.Stride toward the dark alleyways..A flower-baby hippy walks down New Road.In the arms of her prince, engrossed in a trip.Half-naked in a saffron-blouse,.Her brassiere´s baskets lift the stale fruits of youth..Every eye in New Road is fixed on her navel;.Adopted sons around the pipal tree.Stand seceretly thinking lewd thoughts;.They sprout up from behind benches..The filth thrown up by P.S.K. Drainage.Regards the day with jaundiced eyes,.Opening a newspaper´s pages..A beggar woman stands by the News Centre;.She X-rays a hard-up Nepali´s pocket,.And begs for five paisa..Then the poor man puts up a ballon of abuse..Up into the Kathmandu sky..He turns to the lottery stall,.Whence his fortune might come,.And finally spits on himself..I see no point in loitering Tound here.So, to give meaning to the word "home".(home by day, bar by night),.I make the labour of a new verse into some beer,.And I drink..Then I pace out New Road, Plotting a poem.
