Do hide, in those, sacraments
Whose yarn, is your, lasting shroud
How impudence, in your vein, invents
That Satan’s sin, so well-endowed!

That inferno, you cynically sow
In the fertile soil, of human stain
The less you show, the more they know
No creed, would be Oh! So profane!

Forbidden fruit, original sin!
So true appear those, cherished myths
A woman’s skin, is her soul’s chagrin
Which raised and razed, myriad megaliths!

No less woman, nor more, a whore
The oldest enigma, of duality!
There ain’t grander, shame’s metaphor
When She Bares, To Pure Blasphemy!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra