Modest is such, modesty’s bait
Until it dons, the sin’s façade
No! Grace, ain’t just, a woman’s trait
Her skin dictates, shame’s rodomontade!

Still sells so well, this peekaboo
In shrine of shame, a God betrayed
When brazen out, enigmas two
O’er glossy front, of centre-spread!

They race to dare, and bare it all
Be stark angels, of the modern times
With insolence, who write on the wall
“We’re martyrs, to man’s outrage”!

Yet measures style, each inch of skin
Shame’s truth, spread out, on a story sold
Typecast to triumph, a woman’s sin
When ‘Bold’ is ‘Bare’ and ‘Bare’ Is ‘Bold’

© 2018 Vikas Chandra