Had woman not been, modesty’s art
Would baring her, be, so sweet a sin
Is skin on the showing, à la carte?
What about the rest, in this ethnic trade in!
Bare all, be bold! Well! Call it freedom!
Be the men’s sex-thing, souvenir of shame
You ain’t just the one, in modernity’s harem
See them, all queued up, every lass, each dame!
Skin sells, so true, like polemics too
For shame is passé, and so is virtue
And values are vended, over smartphones
By those, who love to blaspheme, living tombstones!
So bask in the glory, of thy newfound avatar
For thy mothers are, but, ‘bygone anecdotes’
Play down, that ethos, those times ‘bizarre’
When purity wasn’t ‘pathos’, When Brides Wore Petticoats!
© 2017 Vikas Chandra