Before was born, the itch to yearn
My winkle, had not, arisen then
Nor had she learned, to discern
How caged is she, in a woman’s ken!

Agnostic was that, neuter bliss
To the sacraments, of dalliance
Blasé were we, to that sweet malice
One day, we’d call, ‘a happenstance’!

When was then shame, betwixt two souls?
Nor the quandary, of this estrangement
Which we now rear, in our lusting wholes
Better was that halfness, which we spent!

So now we know, what we deeply are
Beyond those fleeting, clay souvenirs
Yet we long to death, our lost avatar
That you and me, Those Virgin Years!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra