Littered half-charred cigarettes, my day’s odds and ends
On the tomb of each present, spent my past’s recalls
Yet again, flares up phoenix, a man beyond mends
Born to burn at nightfalls, When The Call Girl Calls…

Do I deem it a sin, yes! A sin indeed!
Why on earth, God sowed, love’s sinful seed
For a woman to rear, and a man to reap
Nightly harvest! Never ever so cheap!

How sly is the haggle, of feminine skin?
“My fee, ain’t the same as, last night Sir!”
“But you ain’t alone, to splish-splash in sin!
Would you serve yourself, on a golden platter?”

And the bell does ring, and a face does leer
And a soul longs on, as the heart enthralls
When done with love, two shrouds lay bare
With emptied fills, for a new sin-affair, When The Call Girl Calls…

© 2016 Vikas Chandra