Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight,
Dark thoughts gather and weep in the cavern of tonight.
A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar,
The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight.
Upturned chairs wait not for visitors in the café,
The feast is laid in boudoir for the intern of tonight.
She was a baby-faced killer who poisoned my chalice,
Her sherry lips are printed on the lantern of tonight.
Uma you who wriggle like a trampled caterpillar,
Your bosom is an icicle in the winter of tonight.