Where hid that lad, in looming manhood’s garb?
On moon-lit roofs, overlooking busy bazaar
Tiptoes he across, eluding “voyeur’s” barb
A randy thief, hounding fissures ajar
As day succumbs again, to night’s mystic snare
Comes alive the same, hunt for indulgence
By a soul laid bare, in this illusive affair
Of a man, and his deviant, insolence
Unwary feminine flair, strays in nighties and chemises
Whilst he devours every inch, of skin, on parades
An owl, on the prowl, how brazenly appeases
The lust of a man, lost in worldly charades
Blessed with puberty, some crime divine
He weighs its vigor, in every vista sublime
Of that starkness replete, beyond confine
A half-naked woman, his full played mime
He flies night kites, lit with fancy’s delights
To reach out to, umpteen forbidden dreams
Is it riot of instincts, or his passage’s rites?
That make him a man, not what he seems
Veiled windows, his sworn bête noire
Dogged curtains, to his heart’s despair
A lust-dead man, only knows to adore
Not a soul, but a shroud, laid bare
His creed akin, to a scavenger
Sniffing bins, sifting remains of the day
Or a lure-enchanted, passenger
On an endless chase, a thought astray
As midnight yawns; offs lights; carnival dies
Peeper has had, his heart’s fills, no qualm!
He dreams away, the night, with lurid lies
Needless to say, “Ain’t you and me that Peeping Tom?”!
© 2016 Vikas Chandra
I always wonder if lust is about seeing nude ,how come blinds feel it
It’s a combination of instinct and perspective.