Ea'ly in the mo'nin',
Goin' through the sheets...
I so often read this,
That some lady was *****..
Wonderin' then why - why is this happenin',
I throw 'way the sheets.
I often ask my dad,
"What's wrong with the hormones here.."
He then smiles before he simply replies,
"It's corruption in genes & none can help it..."
Those who have a heart,
And control over hormones,
If they know how to read Hindi or Punjabi language,
Should go through Punjab Kesari,
It's riddled with **** news,
**** with the young,
**** with the friends,
**** with the old,
**** with the enemies,
**** with the neighbours,
**** with the guests,
**** with the relatives,
**** with the unknown,
And even,
**** with the kids;
In the homes,
At the schools,
In the farms,
At the workplaces,
In the fields,
At the terrace,
In the bush;
By the school-bus staff,
Or the peons,
By the relatives,
Or the neighbours,
By the spouse's friends,
Or by the house-help.
Even that the rapists are at times supported by some so-called ladies who seek revenge or some personal interest.
Everyone or anyone is ever-ready to ****!
I am not proud to be born in such a nation where such cheap "men/women" exist who **** to prove their supremacy over the fair gender for silencing their ****** urge or for any personal motives.
But even in our epics rapes are documented so gloriously that I feel that instances like 'Draupadi Cheerharan' (de-strapping Draupadi's sari) from the "Mahabharata" epic have inspired rapists & eve-teasers along the course of time.
Indian mythology is replete with instances of 'Godly' beings masquerading as their human spouses before having *** with human women. The very base of Indian culture is questionable and the so called masculine brigade that has been contracting religion in India is answerable to all these potential accusations.
Why did the religious scriptures glorify ****?
Why do many of the male community consider women as utensils of ***?
Perhaps only divine intervention from that imaginary guy-in-the-fourth dimension may save this nation.
Till then rapists may have a pompous time.
My HP Poem #347
©Atul Kaushal