Those whispers, resound, like cadavers
Pinned down, today in, clinical beds
Feminists’ trophies, sin’s souvenirs!
What’s a woman, beyond, lust’s center spreads!
Who’d cherished then, basic instincts
Stands warped, by shame, at the trial of sin
Whether present, has blurred, bygone precincts
When a prophet, fell for, a virgin urchin!
Time changes too, its satires
Like feminists change, virtues’ attires
If “Men are Men…”, that’s all, they say
How womanly, is their, chicanery’s cabaret!
It seems, there’s a rush, to this bandwagon
Like that 60s riot – women burnt their bra
Feminists’ bonfire, has just begun
With the fuel of #METOO ENIGMA!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra