Don’t Tell My Kids I Slept With A Whore


You’ve been, oflate, in this, pauper’s plate
Cold staling rice, slumbering, all the while, for a, hungering age
Ain’t love, a myth, lust, made us create
Till marriage, reduced to, a pilgrimage!

I too, lumbered, to the, shrine of sin
To dare, to redeem, that dream, I had lost
My chagrin, to, leap out, of my skin
To pay, my manhood’s, moral cost!

Sin-Goddesses, where, barter shame
Love’s,last promise, lust glorifed
I was, “another punter”, without a name
Where orgies, of life, never died!

Awaits, at door, wife’s, moral metaphor
“Baptized, you are, by, a sinful amour!”
Naked, no more, yet bare, to the core
I dare, with my fear, her, faith’s furor
“Don’t Tell, My Kids, I Slept, With A Whore!”

© 2022 Vikas Chandra

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