I write this in gay abandon,
Not with a heavy heart or a sense of guilt;
Only to settle the score it seems,
So here are the facts on which my defense is built.
It was on that fateful night of December
That she tactfully let her ‘chunni’ slip – exposing her cleavage,
Such an exclusive show by one, who usually veils her face,
By its overtures put my gonads in rage.
To be doubly sure I pulled my zipper down,
And revealed to her what was tender, most protected and limp,
But which hardened quickly under her unflinching gaze -
As it sank in slowly that she’ll neither discourage, nor appease.
Of Course I appreciate the defense of her lawyers
That at times she develops a squint;
That her heart is not where her eyes are and vice-versa,
Besides being a Lady she never looks beyond clothes.
After that I retain just some images – of Draupadi -
Which she was not – for she shared with none;
And of ‘cheer-haran’ which did took place -
Or was that a foolish gopi playing by the beach;
Of a certain void on her soft-n-smooth fullness -
That challenged this Krishna to make her full;
And of my thrusting on her as she lay sprawled on the ground -
Resigned, helpless, exposed and still.
Don’t shun me as a rapist – I did everything to the book -
Of Nishkama Karma and unreciprocated love and playful attitude and eternal bliss.
Convict me if you want – but I’m clever in my craft -
And have subdued her silence with my poem’s force;
What more punishments can you possibly inflict -
Don’t I have to live with the memories – of ‘that sex with a corpse’?