A Back Passage to India

Hear a mighty cymbal crash

See the glorious sun on scimitar flash,

Dancing girls strew flowers

Having descended from minaret towers

Of a sudden all the air

Is filled with opium scents, so rich and rare.

 

All this you carry within

You, flown from far-flung lands all drenched in sin

The closest I can manage

Is to touch these worlds through your back passage.