Virgin or Whore

Serendipity will be the word

Which I call aboard

To even with my feelings

And describe all my dealings

 

Let me tell you a tale

Which will let you to a sail

Across a margin of your thoughts

And make you fill in the dots

 

Legacy to the conjugal unison

Born as a daughter and not a son

I was but my father’s moon

Yet with no claim for the silver spoon

 

Living in a dispensable abode in a slum

We call it ‘Kholi’ but with a glum

Four walls enclosing a few hundred feet

That is the far I could stretch my feat

 

Carried away in the realm of strangeness

Creased by the nudity of circumstances

I silently witness the gasps and the grunts

Wondering it is some sort of a hunt

 

Onto the world I fly on my wings

Too timid but harsh, as when it rings

The multitude never lets you shy

For it knows when and how to pry

 

Aghast at my loss of ignorance and innocence

My body and my soul left all its obedience

Could I justify my train of actions

And conclude I was left with no options

 

The conflicting vicissitudes of my emotions

Manifesting waywardness of the creations

Leaving me bare in my fore

Worrying am I a Virgin or a Whore?