Spice of Life

Indian girls are such an addiction.

Burnished beauty, a narcotic affliction.

Flowing, tumbling, liquorice locks;

Demure, delicious, devilish divas,

Wishful men, get the hottest fevers.

Saree, kurti, Punjabi suit;

T-shirts, jeans, crop-tops,

Time crawls for them, making traffic stop.

Those spice junkies full of games,

Glittering, shimmering, flickering flames.

Aunties tut, think back to their youth,

Uncles frown but don’t look away.

Thinking back to their flirting days.

These girls of tradition have modern swag;

Acrylic nails and Dior bags.

Their accent cute, an adorable tone,

I like to hear them on the phone.

With a sigh of bristling, green-eyed envy,

I watch these gems go by.

And if I’m lucky, I may get,

A friendly smile of “Hi.”