When frolicked she, on the blooming patch
Like the lasting throb, of my poetry
Not a girl as yet, nor a spitting match
Of a spring lost, in fall’s rhapsody!

Amid naïveté, sin of puberty
Estranged to, the new realm, down her spine
Neither menses, nor yearnings’ entreaty:
“Let a lass fathom, her womanhood’s shrine”!

Yet a heart did throb, under breasts galore
Unbeknown, to the riot, love bestows
Oh! The purest joy, did knock, soul’s door
A woman did blush, in pain’s, passion’s throes!

At the feet of mirth, martyr clitoris
Doles out, to despair, hope’s epitaph
Beyond lust’s abyss, love’s soulful bliss
Incarnates nirvana, Her Nether Half!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra