Why cherry-pick, instinct profane!
And not the proven, rites of lust
What color, is that human stain
Which smears, our ethos, in disgust!
That love which stirs, in yearning hearts
The sacraments, of shame, galore
Knows not the precincts, of ramparts
We love to extol, and deplore!
So call it, benign enigma?
And pity, the martyrs, to felony
Who knows behind, this faux pas
Lies façade of, social irony!
Why ask them, who don’t know the mores
Of the rituals, of how, skin rubs skin
Why care for souls, lesser than whores
Who love to death, their Anal Sin!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra