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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=504613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The pain of the past pleasure</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=504613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">There was a time when I was proud of my beauty.<br>Men were around me, young and old, on one pretext<br>Or the other, surveying me behind and then in front.<br>They occasioned to touch me, press me and kiss me. <br>They emboldened to hold me and to grope beneath.<br>They fed me like doves on grains. I was lavished on.<br>I had fallen in my fall, yellowing and graying.<br>Why did I mix carnal pleasure like one does<br>A cocktail, so soon on the borrowed cushions.<br>The pleasure reaped in ecstasy turned arsenic<br>As I recollect. Wine in ten cups is unequal<br>To a dropp of poison. Let me live no longer<br>To face the torture of pain from the pleasure<br>That has been embedded in my bone and vein.<br>22.11.2002</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Rm.+Shanmugam+Chettiar">Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar</a></strong></div>

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