Once more brought June, that monsoon’s spell
When her peaches mellowed, and fell to ground
A lass of twelve, was all, my ‘Mademoiselle’
Beyond that rainy dusk, never ever, to be found
“First peaches are, just for…my orchard’s Lord”
Her face lit up, like a Christmas tree, at her master’s delight
“Ain’t you that half-done woman, which I can afford…?
Drenched in peachy scents, you’re the sweet sin, of twilight!”
My trembling touch, on her shivering white frock
A stare and smirk, sank a splintered smile
“Ah! You’re a woman almost, in the dock”
“Sir…! Spare my girl and woman, to reconcile…”
The orgy did ensue, o’er crimsoned frock, and riotous squeals
Then a deafening silence, sat, amidst two seditious souls
“How’s Virgin Mary deflowered; on a girl’s relics, what a woman feels?”
“Don’t ravish me twice; raking over old coals; pay your manhood’s tolls!”
And she left so stark, thru the soul of drizzling dark; never ever returned…
As the misery sank in, sublime spell of my sin, she bequeathed me
Strewn peaches oozed blood, spelled a scourge well-earned
Dare I never touch, as ever it lay, shattered body of her bleeding spree!
Since ages gone, the chase is on, for that broken girl, that woman galore
Who left bleeding, her heart, my soul, now Parched Peaches, at My Door…!
© 2016 Vikas Chandra