No more, than nubs, on a throbbing heart
No less than, crests of, prominence
Had not, been them, what would impart
The sin and bliss, of her transcendence!

On the fertile farm, of a daughter’s chest
Bloom on and on, wild, grapes of wrath
Can’t wait, till end, this enigma’s fest
Pure blasphemy, its aftermath!

How estrangement, paves way, to pride
When chalices spill, nectar of spring
A soul cradles, new fury’s tide
With a fist, of love, and ounce of sting!

At last begins, their pilgrimage
Faith’s fodders, to posterity’s demands!
Yet blazes on, flagrant outrage
The Intrigue, Of Her, Mammary Glands!

© 2018 Vikas Chandra