The bounty, bane, of original sin
And myths galore, of that liaison
Which made woman’s substance, akin
To a lingering, flagrant question!

Whose creed was made to love, be loved
And ever-yearned for, to zeniths of ache
A mother’s flaw, whore’s faith, all shoved
In the sanctum of, woman’s namesake!

The yarn of ethos, the fabric of class
The dough for bread, and that for need
Conceptions of man, subtle and crass
So many playthings, for her decreed!

A species apart, mankind’s half race
In social scheme, that enigma manifest
Of errands strewn, all over the place
Woman, Love, Sex And All The Rest…

© 2017 Vikas Chandra