The twain do tryst, to never meld
Why passion is, love’s travesty
Yet a sin sublime, unparalleled
A faith, as true as, heresy!
From Eden’s edge, the ‘Fall of Man’
Still lingers on, that spent pursuit
Why lusts to death, the human clan
The curse of that, ‘Forbidden Fruit’!
Bared endlessly, a woman’s being
Thread by thread, shame’s scandalous strands
What’s the mystique left, still worth seeing?
Besides a slit, two mammary glands!
Be fodder to, an empty lust
Hold passion, as love’s alibi
Could more be true, a sin august
Than ‘love is a farce, and Sex Is A Lie’!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra