“His lips, ain’t they, half-split, bursting poppy pod!”
Jeered semen-high war-lords, at a twirling Ali
“A barefaced angel, no less than sex-God!
Women’re to farm litter, and boys, ecstasy”,
How sound, is the substance of pederasty!
Footloose and fancy free – Boy Play, Bacha Baazi…!
10 years of reckless boyhood, lavished, on Kabul’s streets
“Better be a well-fed play-boy, till the sin of puberty
Come! Don a belled skirt and chemise, wiggle and jingle to our manly beats!”
Now Ali’s a breastless Alia, bare to bone, that latent lady
Whose buttocks bounce on lusting hearts, spark exotic fancy!
No more, man’s travesty, under lock and key – Boy Play, Bacha Baazi…!
When lap-dances die down, on looming manhoods galore
And hunger seeks more, of unwary whore, in half-lit inns, on bended knee
Achilles’ heel shattered, by many a lovelorn riotous paramour
If rape be their orgy, gang-rape, the zenith of…
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