Big-winged scampering rakshasa,
am I slave? Are you my master?
Get out my room! Faster! Faster!
Antennaed bhanchod.
Across my rug, chitto, you rush,
as though it were the Hindu Kush.
Baap-re! Get out, or I will crush
you with my jutta.
Are you a telescope with wings,
come to dekho at my vest-strings?
You kuda like your feet are springs,
but I kuda higher.
Waggling beast, how peaceful you look,
funtoosh, inside a stony nook,
handsome titli squashed by a book,
legs like a prostitute’s.
