All we have to do is idly sit
indoors
With smooth roses powdered
on our cheeks,
Our bodies burning naked
through the fold
Of shining Amorgos' silk
and meet the men
With our dear Venus-plats
plucked trim and neat.
Their stirring love will rise
up furiously,
They'll beg our arms to
open. That's our time!
We'll disregard their knocking
beat them off
And they will soon be rabid
for a Peace
I'm sure of it.
Lewd to the least drop in
the tiniest vein,
Our sex is fitly food for
Tragic Poets,
Our whole life's but a pile of
kisses and babies.
But, hardly Spartan, if you
join with me
All may be righted yet. O
help me, help me.
PROBULOS
... O kadınlar ki savaş nedir rüyalarında bile görmemişlerdir.
LYSİSTRATA
Evet ama, geberesi herif, derdini biz çekiyoruz asıl savaşın. Biz değil miyiz doğurup doğurup oğullarımızı gurbetlere yollayan?
Sayfa 38 - İş Bankası Kültür YayınlarıKitabı okudu