I called it ‘love’, for ages, then
An ‘itch’, an ‘ache’, Oh! I knew ‘so well’
Until I wrote, with a poison-pen
“Sex is lone sin, which sells, so well!”
To be ever-spent, by a truth to a lie
Is not a choice, but a cherished rite
Whose caricatures, we glorify.
The ‘things’, which happen, every night!
The flesh, that slithers, on our bones
That yearning, of all, bygone years
An enigma, beyond unknowns
Which plays upon, our cherished fears!
And yet, we exalt, instincts’ sin
To the pedestal, of ‘poise, ‘romance’
Beyond love’s bait, and lust for skin
Sex Is A Hollow Happenstance!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra