Could envy of ambrosia, spill off their earthly ends?
How poesy of mankind, is sweeter than God’s prose?
Twin epithets of love and shame, how future’s faith it tends
With many a hush-hush name, whose breasts are those?
What have they to do with them, but coyly hide?
To rein their ponies, smitten to hearty throes
And suckle to the spree, of men and her pride
Closed books to me, whose breasts are those?
Ain’t she the one, who treasures, their real worth
And serves them out, in bargain-basement shows
Their pompous creed, beyond love and birth
Yes, a sin! Indeed! Whose breasts are those?
And a whole lot of nothing, on a masked mammary gland
So tangled in skin, lingering womankind’s shadows
Two tombs of bliss, by man’s wasteland
Hunger’s lasting abyss, whose breasts are those?
© 2016 Vikas Chandra
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