• Antara Basu


O’ an ode to thee, flesh of the streets of pleasures.

Passions of the night, desires in red lights,

Sold souls to be bought, or strings of choice binding hearts.

They hurl scorn, to these worthy of disdain,

Harlot, wenches, contemporary

Whores of Babylon.

Labels etched within souls

Emerging for escapes.

Yet she’s here, yesterday, today, forever.

Enticement of bodies,

To be used as mourning alleys.

The courtesan of contempt,

Embracing unknown breaths, strange caresses

Recoils the skin, but ceases none.

She grieves through the agony,

Fondling her skin,

Marks left, testaments to possession,

Her belonging

To him alone. Though

She lies with another that night,

The admiration of another lover.

She spirals through it all,

Touched by life whilst she lies

Calloused in isolation.

Trembles under sheets of despair

Thrusted through the tales of woe.

By nightfall o'er, she enters the rhythm of lust

Another man to please, to service.

But this dusk, brings a dawn of sparks

A shiver shakes her passionless limbs,

A fire that arouses, lifeless desires.

The quivers of senses, whimpers of pleasure.

Strings of the heart, weaving the cloth of attachment.

Lust touches love, ripping to shreds the veils of withdrawal,

Embracing energy, she strokes infinity.

It’s been days, her craving his sight.

Thoughts of him torments her miseries.

As lays again with strangers tonight,

Tomorrow, forever.