Of Forged Piety, The Blotch – And A Tale.

In the night’s wickedness,
She is a  fille of toxicant
Standing in hallucination –
Staring at the crowd;
Laughter, giggles, hunger
all around her sphere.

Dancing to the beat
In all her rhythm and flow,
Her balmy naked body
is gazed by a row;
Of thirsty eyes,
and wild aims.

In her impuissance;
She is used beastly,
By seductive hands
with angry nude gazes.
Her dignity crushed
and honor abased.

In the hushed dark room,
Another victim of poorness dwelled;
With bashed fragile body
and torn filthy soul,
Sighing and shrieking potently
over her evil encounter.

But then again, enters the room –
Few rays of a new aurora,
And she stands in her emptiness
To wear a mask of virtue,
For phony and dodging –

The dopy world outside.
This is how a tale of poverty echo,
In the deaf, cold vibe around
To earn and dwell –
Against the gusts of fate;
Selling pride and all the purity,
By dying the moment, when tried to live.

12 thoughts on “Of Forged Piety, The Blotch – And A Tale.

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