An ounce, of shame, in a yard of skin
Conquest, gift-wrapped, in chicanery
God ain’t, sublime as, Satan’s sin
No faith, profound, as heresy!
This chalice spills, more than, it fills
The opium, of our, existence
Ask the, soul of, trampled daffodils
Who live, to death, that ‘love’s’ pretense!
All’s fair in love, and war, they say
Indeed there lies, the germ, of lust
When passion’s, left to, have its way
Sins, we adore, in a ‘shrine august’!
Who seeks, who’s sought, that matters not
But the, contours of, love’s ‘blasphemy’
The phallic, vulvar, mammary thought
Play’s out, bare truth, in sin’s orgy!
Enduring, fests of, amour-propre!
Pilgrims, of passion’s, impiety!
To forestall, fear with, shame’s chutzpa!
Why Women Flaunt Their Nudity!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra