Thirteen seemed a bygone, when eighteen, one year shy
Rildo was still a half-lad, nay, a half-man, with star in eyes
Who motley ladies, found to be, their vanity’s best buy
For he ironed out, their wrinkled breasts, hid their lure’s stark lies
Was it the choice, of a naïve bloke, to be a wanting bait?
A mother’s ‘Rildo’, how became, a ‘Dildo’ in demand!
“Boy! How many blotches of blusher! Where’s gone your, clean slate?”
“Ma’am! You’re just another, love-mother, in my cloud cuckoo land!”
Between a drunk youth and lost world, lay
Spent man, in the tentacles, of unspent lust
“This ain’t love Ma’am, what a phony foreplay…!”
“Count your dough, gigolo, not my moans, you must…!”
How coming of age, dreary rites of passage, made an enigma of him
So far that child’s tomb, and man, within a stone’s throw
Still rings the bell, meanders out that pilgrim
With a hope in hell, That Beau, Called Dildo
© 2016 Vikas Chandra
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Superb. . . you are a master sir. Happy writing 🙂
Thanks Sir for the kind words. Really appreciate it. I highly regard your unshakeable conviction in your faith and the preachings of your mentors you share with us from time to time. How relevant are they in the present context too. Amazing! Thanks a lot!