Petite hearts, laid out, on sun-bathed swings
To dry, till ripen, virtue’s fruits
I see them, tangled, to apron strings
Of that fancy, in wild dreams’ cahoots!

Ah! Those unworn bras, on ungrown breasts
I sniff thru their sweat, an age-old itch
Thru worthy fears, and cherished fests
I sew my sweet sins, stitch by stitch!

When innocence blooms, to that dimension
Where it seeks to be loved, beyond love’s laws
Had love, not been, man’s invention
Would better it be, sans worldly flaws!

When on lonely day, I see that lad
Toying on street, with world’s deceit
I touch my heart, “I ain’t that bad!
Who loves to chase, a game petite!”

© 2017 Vikas Chandra