She squelches on my canvas, hues of deceit
Whose grandeur, reeks of, crumbling hauteur
A swelling mold, on my soul, carousing its conceit
Vanquished many manly prides, never found that connoisseur

Who weighs her worth, against her airs!
But does she know, where lies the end?
Of her boundless dominion, of despairs
“Oh! My splendor’s sins, I comprehend!”

One ain’t ample! More the merrier, is the holy rule
What she treasures more, her glory, or the hearts
She tramples on, who stray upon, her paradise of fool
Doomed escapades of Caesars, jaunts of Bonapartes

What she veils, and reveals, beyond her starkness
Is the mystique, that defines, her phony creed
A chapel, ringing sultry chimes, draped in darkness
Or hostage, to her elegance, yearning to be freed!

She slithers past my senses, a lizard, on the prowl
Looking for a crevice, in a man, smitten, she thinks
Quips she, “Bow to conquest! Throw in the towel!”
I retort, “Spare me, your fusty fest, your vainglory stinks!”

Unrequited, eh! She spits malice, bares fangs, her pride
“You ain’t a man, of machismo! Has your manhood died?
I smell her venom, simmering now, vanity up, in the mist
“Neither you a woman of virtue, nor me a misogynist!”

© 2015 Vikas Chandra