Don’t you see them glare, from behind that wall?
Through those blistered eyes, ever-kohled in pain
Dare they cross that rampart, hell would befall?
The moons that eclipse, from a thought profane!
Lest you come of age, be wary of them
The men who seek, a woman in you
Dare not, stir up, a wanton mayhem
So black shall be, thy only true-blue!
Be a moving tomb; Ah! The blessed black
To bury, thy contours; seeds of sin
Would better be, any aphrodisiac
For a repressed clan, under faith’s skin!
In the backyards skip, with fractured feet
Many a nameless face, with faceless name
Born to live and die, with a faith’s deceit
Blooming bonsai, Black Angels Of Shame!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra