First Menses Of The Spring

Her heart throbbed, in that quiescent bud
Who paid price, of life’s renaissance
Now a joy bathes, in her womb’s warm blood
Dead is the reign, of that nonchalance!

Once more spill sin, yearning daffodils
Ablaze passion, in the throes of pain
The bloodshot pansies, blush to their fills
Behold her lifeblood’s, legerdemain!

It ain’t pure love, that doesn’t bleed
To farm a hope, oe’r myriad years
She sows, in the soul of life, death’s seed?
Oe’r misery’s tombs, strews joys’ souvenirs!

Lay bare mystiques, of a virgin’s heart
Ever-lusted who, for love’s sin-fling
Each grain dolled-up, down to a fine art
Baptized in bliss, First Menses Of The Spring!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra

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