Faces, faces, faces—
Why do ye turn away?
Young and old,
Come, I am thirsty—
Give me the chalice of your faces.
How can I forget
Limbs helpless with lust?
How can time take from me
The woundings of claw-sharp hands,
And the pleading anger of eyes
That burn with hate of love?
I am withering with hunger,
I who fed your famished sex!
Bring me the bare pittance of your pleasure,
Young and old—faces, faces, faces!
Dhan Gopal Mukerji (1890 – 1936) India (lived in USA for a while)
Source: Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. Volume XXI. No. 1. October, 1922. Harriet Monroe ed. Chicago: 1912–22
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