Sausages curled with foreskin ends,
And mashed potato, slimy yet solid,
While a cricket mad nation goes to the pub for
Some bangers and mash,
While watching an IPL match,
That happens hundreds
Of miles away. Priyanka Chopra
Come on screen, supporting a charity,
As there are whistles
In the pub, dirty old British Men,
Letting out guffaws, making sexist jokes,
While holding a gaze at sultry Priyanka,
Wondering what Kama Sutra position
Will look best on her,
How the long line of Indian beauties
Are now coming to the big screen,
Beautified in jaw bone and hammock smile
How in India its all about
How skillful you’re with a big bat, that
Will take you places, as an Englishman
Entertains a silent thought,
Imagining how good, Virat Kohli must
Be, under the covers, wondering what
He can do with a bat, that
Alistair or Joe simply cannot.
A visual of Virat, standing in par
With the gamut of gods of Hinduism,
Holding his weapon of choice, the willow,
His pose that of a Sex God.
