“Which pain is sweeter, for a bard, celibate?
The one, gotten from, unrequited love
Or the sin, I ever-feared, to consummate
With my iron muse, in a velvet glove!”

“The spark, you sow, in my pen, inert
Is it nobler, than the desire, you stir
In a heart, that dares to fondle, and flirt
A muse beyond, art’s fertile spur!”

“Why last night, we broke, our virtuous vow
And sinned our hearts, to looming libido
Love learnt from lust, who’s ‘holier than thou’
Why this pain of passion, we now undergo!”

“Oh! My darling Maud! Shall we ever redeem?
That love, we trampled, to the dust
How a bond of beauty, we did blaspheme
For an ounce of orgy, and Penance Of Lust!”

© 2017 Vikas Chandra