…And I thought, he was, just another sepoy
A fodder to his land’s bloodlust
Until in him, I found my Troy
There stood Achilles, in war’s manly dust!

What swept me off, was never his charm
But the mystique of war, in his blood
With his sublime semen, a whore did farm
The epics of fury, with a randy stud!

Did a colonel’s mistress, mourn, a lad’s last war?
Yes! For she hadn’t, yet had, her fancies’ fills
She kissed adieu, “My macho matador
Do play with blood, till your last drop spills,”!

When in casket came, her warrior vain
The widowed whore, whined, ever so brusque
How I wish, I could make, love again
To That Brute Who Smelt Of Smoke And Musk!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra