Her promise, smelt like, stale jasmines
Trampled under, her punters’, feet
I saw, that whore, beyond her sins
The woman, who was born, in a girl’s defeat!

She had pressed, my head, to her breasts, with a sigh
“Oh boy! Dare you stare, from the window, at me
The naked psalm, of a, wailing rabbi
Grow up, soon to see, your passion’s graffiti!”

Had lingered, in me, that aching adieu
From the day, I left her, haunting smile
To the day, I grew, the man, she knew
When I knocked, her door, past a, long exile!

She smirked, and stroked, my hairy face
“I’ll suckle, you tonight, my last lullaby”
When I pleaded, to her, graying grace
“Won’t You Drop, For Me, Your Blue Negligée!“

© 2019 Vikas Chandra