"chastity" poems
i see the words floating on
message boards or perched
upon the lips of jocular hypocrites
double-standards that demand
sensual chastity and virginal sexuality
in endless iterations of irony
the concussive
monosyllabic words
slung like stones
cast like arrows
****
*****
*****
all labels for
women possessed of
the courage to pursue
their own passion
once upon a time a
Nazarene insisted a ********** had
more integrity than a rich
statesman throwing self-serving parties
so tell me why so
many Christian politicians
propagate patriarchal notions of depravity
in blanket attempts to regulate
the bodies of women
if being anti-choice was really
about preventing abortions
why do rich right-wing conservative
Republicans spend all their time
and money picketing free clinics
when the solution lies in comprehensive
****** education universal healthcare
complimentary birth control
and comprehensive child support
don't dare use the reprehensible
rhetoric of pro-life unless you're
at once anti-war
and anti-death penalty
riddle me this
what pray tell is the
difference between a jealous
religious misogynist
and a secular sexist
it's rather simple actually
while the former bases his
slut-shaming on the edicts of
a two thousand year old letter to
the Corinthians inconspicuously
sandwiched between a celebration of
love and a section on speaking in tongues
the latter’s learned behavior is
birthed by a hyper-masculine culture
grounded in dominance
either way we await the day
when wild women raze
these ideologies
with torches before
rising like phoenixes
from the ashes of
decimated passages
dismissed by intellectuals
as archaic and outmoded
deaf blind and dumb to
the vestiges of modernity
that sap unscientific
philosophies of their potency
and render them utterly obsolete
in their wake
these proud women
erase the hate
from words like
****
*****
*****
and reclaim equality
with a far more
comprehensive term
feminist
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
The teacher stands before her detained class
And from behind her authoritative podium
She equates abortion to the holocaust
A dangerous comparison in an educational garrison
But the other children nodded their heads in agreement
A benefit of having the ear of youth
Is being able to infect it with your own toxic ideology
What bacteria did this ear infection consist of?
Conservatism? Religiosity? Chastity?
The answer was depressingly simple
I was the only one there unaware of Fox News
I was a casualty of the confusion
The confusion engendered
By venom thoughts placing politic-colored glasses
on the entrenched masses
Entertainment
Used to convey anger and hate
Emotions worth conveying
But not living in
The intents and desires of their vulnerable receivers
become an incongruous disaster
What could I have done?
Minds as still as the pharaohs heart
We live in a society where we're all infantilized by one myth
Good and evil
Looking back on what I did do
I didn't do much
But I did do something
I didn't nod my head like a ******** sycophant
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
Overlook the fragile hourglass figure
Beyond corsets and pseudo-beauty rules,
Endorse thy curves and stretch marks strewn,
The dusky skin and frizzy curls,
Braille like pimples on the face
Discoloration, bumps and pores;
This Body shaming, I shall pass.
Writhing in pain and humiliation,
Drenching in rage and insecurity
While I lie,
Society curses me
Defining and redefining my chastity;
'T was the crop top, the alcohol and the sly behavior.
You set the monster free and blame the ****
This Victim shaming, I shall pass.
Beige and ebony;
They call me names blatantly
Betwixt skin color and bleached smiles.
Laugh and scoff all you want.
Harass the Black, detain them,
Prejudiced minds rule your dystopian world.
This Black shaming, I shall pass.
Without creating a labyrinth of stigma,
And seeking refugee in collective blame,
Let's construct our utopian world
Acknowledging all freaks and flaws
This Shaming, we shall pass.
Apr 10, 2020
Apr 10, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
implosions are for starfish and our mission is clear. we have nowhere to be from
and that's half the battle. we are seldom unbridled in the chastity of our carnal bluff...
and our cages are breathing. we are finally designing our most daring Inertia.
both mum on the details in the devil's flotsam. we jot some of the names of the nameless...
on the outside of Dixie cups. like mint julep promise to a tangerine honest.
again and again, we ache through the breeze of our soothing traumas. we court the verity of a sham.
we blast through the congregation of our adversary, snipping varmints from a stale camp
in the southernmost of our due south,; where they fear the bonfire until a vagrant maps
the flaming tongues to a long kiss.... and we crash upon the shore
of Never Asked.
but regret This.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
How this **** fable instructs
And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap
Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers
Approving chased girls who get them to a tree
And put on bark's nun-black
Habit which deflects
All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the ****** shape
In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,
Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne
Switched her incomparable back
For a bay-tree hide, respect's
Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip
Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs
Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery
Bed of a reed. Look:
Pine-needle armor protects
Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop
Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,
Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:
For which of those would speak
For a fashion that constricts
White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top
Unfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowers
Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they
Who keep cool and holy make
A sanctum to attract
Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip
To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,
They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty
Of virgins for virginity's sake.'
Be certain some such pact's
Been struck to keep all glory in the grip
Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs
As you etch on the inner window of your eye
This ****** on her rack:
She, ripe and unplucked, 's
Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe
Now, dour-faced, her fingers
Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly
Askew, she'll ache and wake
Though doomsday bud. Neglect's
Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop:
Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.
Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy
Till irony's bough break.
8.6k
Inspired by a vintage ****** postcard from the 1920s - 30s:
The Muse sits resplendent
caressed in sepia tones and pastel cream
gilded with the glaze of a bygone era
her silk Charleston negligee
worn proud like a vintage ornament
perched on an aesthetically pleasing
shapely pert insolent *****
blossomed with tiny beads of sweat
the heat of such anticipation
entices the pearls of the ******
to pamper and pleasure their perversions
etched as if in a radiance of candlelight
the flickering limbs pulse their bloom
nimble fingers of dancing shadows
cupping the feline curves of a chaise longue
the purposefully out of place set piece
the fantasy of a gentleman's reading room
caked in casked sherry
and Nat Sherman cigar infused aromas
her elegant pose sumptuous reclining
elbow length satin gloves
sensually wrapped in wanton desire
two fingers clasp a Sorbranie Black Russian
smoked like a sultry gypsy
with a fervent demeanour
from a silver opera cigarette holder
beckoning with the cats eyes of mischief
over Pinced nez eyeglasses
with a fascination imbibed
in the praxis of passion
the peach skin of refulgent youth
directs the viewer downwards, slowly
survey each contour of olive skin
and stroke every hidden cleft of fabric
to glimpse the nubile thighs of grace
leading the eye to the arch of an ankle
slipped like a fitted glove
nestled in the cleavage of her calf
and the chastity of future wonderment
the forgotten photograph
captures a period in time
the memories of the muse
now in motionless existence
a demure allure forever frozen
once lost, but now
never forgotten
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
Forlorn sheets fluttering in the winds
splattered in smoke and ruination,
empty the streets where she'd played lost:
Haunting her now among
shadows in the cell she's chained
to slavery
of the religious kind.
Beast more than beast these men that
stare in hubris awaiting their turn
to partake of infidel flesh.
Behold! The holy empire of God is here.
That morning she'd grown up -
blood between her thighs had
stopped her play,
and her chastity was proclaimed.
Selima must learn to respect men
and the ways of God and His
rules of modesty.
Now, as he grunts and groans
in holy pleasure as he mounts
her by turns, tied up at the altar
to be an example of how ******
the lot of the pagan and faithless be.
Mother, is this the modesty that
God commands of infidel women?
How merciful indeed is He that
He creates in faithful men a beastly craving
and provides too for them
uncircumcised ***** in pillage.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
Let the bird of loudest lay
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
But thou shrieking harbinger,
Foul precurrer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever’s end,
To this troop come thou not near.
From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing
Save the eagle, feather’d king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.
Let the priest in surplice white
That defunctive music can,
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.
And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak’st
With the breath thou giv’st and tak’st,
‘Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.
Here the anthem doth commence:—
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.
So they loved, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none;
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;
Distance, and no space was seen
‘Twixt the turtle and his queen:
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine,
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phoenix’ sight;
Either was the other’s mine.
Property was thus appall’d,
That the self was not the same;
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was call’d.
Reason, in itself confounded,
Saw division grow together;
To themselves yet either neither;
Simple were so well compounded,
That it cried, ‘How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.’
Whereupon it made this threne
To the phoenix and the dove,
Co-supremes and stars of love,
As chorus to their tragic scene.
THRENOS
Beauty, truth, and rarity,
Grace in all simplicity,
Here enclosed in cinders lie.
Death is now the phoenix’ nest;
And the turtle’s loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity:
’Twas not their infirmity,
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, but cannot be;
Beauty brag, but ’tis not she;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair
That are either true or fair;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
7.1k
Señor Garcia Marquez
Whatever did you mean
When you wrote of life
And of death by family
I'm in love with
Prudencio Aguilar's ghost
Roaming about the Buendía household
Hole in his throat
Washing out the wound
But what did you mean?!
I'm in love with
Do it yourself chastity belts
And Ursula's fear of ***
But why is this even a theory
Your concept behind biracial inbreeding
And Señor do not get me started
On Melquíades and José Arcadio Buendía
Because that friendship was
Fated to be doomed
I mean no disrespect in all this
I just want to know
Why use Macondo as an allegory
For the Angel Gabriel
You're genius, really
But your run on paragraphs
Infuriate every ounce of my writing soul
You're a Columbian Tolstoy
I mean that as no insult
Your works are tremendous and outstanding
But what am I doing
You're now just an old dead man
"Under the ground"
So now I belong to figure out
Why Pilar needs to fill a void
Opened by a ******
And why Colonel Aureliano Buendía
Thinks of his fond memory of ice
Just before being killed
I've paid my respects to your work
Please pay respects to my search
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
She placed
Her young husband
In a chastity belt
It was important for
Him to learn self-control
He wasn't going to
Just have *** whenever
He wanted to
If he was attentive
To her needs
And the house was clean
Well, then
Perhaps a release
Would be allowed
But it was up to her
When that would occur
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
My transcendent transition
Brought by my ****** ambition
Became my personal religion
When I gained a monk's chastity
All my pleas just came back to me
My prayers remain unanswered
Like someone dying of cancer
An inept bow-legged dancer
My skills are useless
My bites are toothless
My eyes are youthless
When my face has been strained
By the energy that was drained
On this ceaseless journey
To sate my ceaseless yearning
They don't look like the pictures they show
They only choose the photos that glow
They're so afraid of being alone
Willing to lie
To lure unsuspecting prey
And trap them in a spider web personality
But webs are useless against grander creatures
And become an annoyance
When all the wildlife
Can only see silk
And get itchy in the effected areas
In our minds we build barriers
In our hearts we grow wearier
Searching for someone to hold us tight at night
Someone that looks right in the light
Someone that helps fight all our plights
Someone to give that tranquil transition
Into that peaceful loving condition
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:23 AM UTC
Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.
Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do, it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.
Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?
5.2k
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
I hope to meet a hiking goddess
Maybe when I go to Yosemite
In my dreams
She has similar interests as I do
She enjoys history and philosophy
She is fit
And has a powerful
And athletic body
She can even squat more than me
In my fantasy
And with those powerful legs
Can easily pin me down
We hike the trails together
And at night
I give her oral pleasure
For hours on end
What a way to spend
A few days at Yosemite
I told her about my pledge
Of chastity
And it is so hard for me
(literally, lol)
She came equipped with many toys
And so I put on
My chastity belt
Just as she requested
She is staying in another tent
I take a peak
And see a taller
More powerful man
Caressing her with his hands!
I cry a bit inside my tent
She told me she was a ****** too
And I won't let that man
Take her virginity away
No, not ever
Not on this day
I steal her away
From that man
Virgins we will both remain
I tell her
He will just leave you
*** is a dangerous game
And so better companions
We came to be
Me providing oral pleasure
And both of us
Committed to
Our pledge of chas-ti-ty
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
Luxuria (Lust)
Asmodeus demon of lust
carnal manipulator
****** captor
Castitas (Chastity)
Embracing virtue
honorable wholesomeness
not through one’s weakness
Gula (Gluttony)
The egocentricity
with which the Lord of the flies
upon us relies
Temperantia (Temperance)
practicing restraint
prudence to judge with regard
remaining on guard
Avaritia (Greed)
The Mammon demon
controlling the warmonger
with vows of power.
Caritas (Charity)
Crave unselfishness
give unreserved empathy
love and sympathy
Acedia (Sloth)
Deny grace and God
so evil shall become fact
when we fail to act
Industria (Diligence)
Fortitude is a must
persistence in conviction
zealous for passion
Ira (Wrath)
In its purest form
presents violence and hate
Satan’s fate
Patientia (Patience)
mercy to haters
receiving the grace to forgive
rewards are massive
Superbia (Pride)
Lucifer’s downfall
for excessive vanity
destroys humility
Humanitas (Kindness)
Sympathy without bias
belief without bitterness
inspire kindness
Invidia (Envy)
resentful passion
an insatiable desire
potent cause of dire
Humilitas (Humility)
think of yourself less
and not think less of yourself
don’t exalt oneself
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 3:36 AM UTC
If the Sacred Fire of Vesta went out, it meant one of two things:
meant
1. Rome was in danger;
meant
2. A Vestal ****** a guardian of the flame, was having ***
Chastity and fire
are two attributes that are directly correlated. If one is lost,
the other will follow. Trust me. This is fact:
only ****** women
can be celebrated.
The ****** Mary,
the ****** goddesses,
the way **** was seen as a crime
against the father, not the daughter:
women
must
remain
pure.
Do not eat the pomegranate seeds,
do not touch the fruit of knowledge. A
statue of a young boy
holding an apple
does not hold
the same connotation
as a woman holding an apple. Offering it to a man who
could have refused. Getting blamed for the fall from Eden.
A woman
with a snake draped around her body is not Eve,
is Lilith, but it’s close enough. They are both to blame for
all the evils of the world, so what does it really matter anyway? Women
are more susceptible to wavering in their faith in God,
to worshipping the devil, to practicing witchcraft—
The flames are out. Rome is not safe. A ****** is buried
alive for her sin. Lilith is slaughtering women in childbirth.
Babies are dying. A man is celebrated for his multiple
lovers. **** shaming in 79 AD. The beds in Pompeii
brothels are made of stone. St. Cecilia is face down in the
dirt. Women on the same level as slaves, if not lower. The
goddess Vesta as a housewife.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
lizard on warm rocks
an artist in their paint-speckled smock
the wind carrying fallen flowers
jade eyes meet brown
chastity belt unbound
hours upon hours
spent in between the sheets
delicate, delectable, free
Apr 19, 2023
Apr 19, 2023 at 10:43 AM UTC
Give me chastity, O Lord,
But please don't give it yet.
There's some things I'd like to do
And not have to regret.
I do pray though, O Father God,
That you are not like man,
But instead a lady, fine,
With loving, gentle hands.
And, if my desire be forbade:
Goddess, sing the rage.
If you wish to have all man
Inside your tender palm,
Flock your prophets to the mount
And tell them they are wrong.
For it was not a warrior clad
With armor and with sword,
But a woman, curious,
Who brought us to be lords.
And a mother's love cannot decay
Goddess, sing the rage
All faithfulness is out our mouths,
Our throats' an open tomb.
We seem to have forgot all
When we came from your womb.
Don't bother resting at our feet,
Your reverence is too great.
Just cast your wrath at our end
When we are at your gate.
And, in death, we'll give our praise
Goddess, sing the rage
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:54 PM UTC
Ah, in my opinion and in general Indian opinion, love and *** are irrelated. I'm nearly 23 and I'm in love and I'm proudly a young man with preserved chastity. Gender has lost its place in the active vocabulary and the word for ****** *********** *** has replaced it widely.
People around the globe have simply forgotten that the real meaning of love is not *** but instead of this, *** is one of the many expressions of love.
Love is when you get the feeling of being a friend and a family member of a person you are not naturally related to and the person is from the "opposite" gender irrespective of how the system tries to make sense of same-gender love by going great lengths for despising the truth.
As for the homosexual people, it's high time for them to accept the rules of nature as those are and stop doing what they are. They should mingle equally well with the people from opposite gender and find or wait for somebody who matches their thinking about wiser things.
Virginity, or more appropriately put, chastity of a person is defined as the situation of being totally inexperienced at having had any ****** activity. It is a treasure trove of humanity, and is not just a physical state but even a psychological state. This treasure must be shown to and shared only with one person from opposite gender when one is ready for exercising the activities of ****** ***********
If a person, a female in particular, is ***** and their chastity is snatched away by force, or conversely, they lose it to some physical injury resulting from sports, and their mind is still untouched by the notion of *********** they must not to be treated as someone who has been having ****** *********** and wilfully so.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
They tell me to stick to my roots
because roots lead up to shoots.
They tell me to stick to my origin
unaware of how it acts as a prison,
My roots are Draupadi's hair that was twisted and lugged,
my roots are Panchali's saree that was tugged.
My roots are Sita's wrist Ravana wrested,
my roots are where Ahalya's chastity rested.
My roots are parasites that eat up its own herb and ****
my roots are rat snakes that eat up its own tissue and meat.
My roots are flames of fire that created and watered the plant of Sati,
my roots are pools of blood and long ropes that drowned and hanged LaxmiBai and Moolmati.
My roots are the dish misogyny flavoured with patriarchy,
my roots are naked streams of Ganga washing off their lynching and anarchy.
My roots are all the poison Shiva drank during the churning of the sea,
my roots are Dhritrashtra's aspirations and ambiguity.
My roots are its own herbivore,
my roots are the lava that burns its own floor.
And my roots are my flesh and bone,
so I am stitched to my roots altogether, all alone.
So as I cut my own roots, my roots chop me,
hence I stick to my roots while my roots remain free.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 4:00 AM UTC
Innocence Molested
Innocence has been molested, thrown in dust bin
Just without any sin and just without any crime
The only sin of little girl was to get education to win
The laurels in days to come to serve in her prime
Morality has gone to dogs and dogs are but stray
Their masters are trying hard to save them for brutality
Shameless creatures are hidden in their ***** way
But this time they will not be safe for but heir hostility
Zainab was ***** and killed in the age of just seven
While her parents were on holy journey to Makkah
So sweet a girl being a martyr she embraced heaven
Her chastity purity were converted by rascals to saga
Criminals must be hanged till death for their ***** sin
Little girl be given justice with exemplary punishment
No more little girls be molested ,thrown but in dust bin
Corrupt elements be annihilated as declared and meant
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2018 Golden Glow
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
**~-~-~
Promise after promise
Fell into my head
I carried them with me,
I took them to bed
So hopeful, I waited;
To hold your forever
Intentions negated
This jaded endeavor
Yet, lies soon took shape
And doubt would take hold
Your dormant coercion
Cementing the mold.
You never came through
You never came back
The woodchips, they faded
The bracelets, I lacked
Trapped under my instincts
My innocence, vanished
The moon was relinquished
My purity, famished
Young as I was
I’ll never forget
The impact you left me;
Your stark epithet. . .
You took something good,
You found something pure
My will cut in half
Rose white, and demure.
The root of my psyche
You’ve yet to discern,
Who plundered my childhood;
My chastity, burned.
Existence forgotten;
Defined from within
I’ll never evade you
You’re etched in my skin.
Scar after scar
Fell into my arm
Your ink swam my bloodstream
Your slander, your charm
I swindled the rabbit
And powdered my nose
Freefalling in choices
Defining your prose.
With tasty white pills,
A hand in my throat
A liver that’s grilled;
The bible I quote.
With no one on earth
To save me from me
I sampled the bottle
From under our tree.
I cannot begin
Nor pretend to describe
What happened to Maple,
Who am I inside?
The loneliest girl
In the entire world
The events I’d mistaken
The chastity; hurled
All that I know
And all that I think;
Is this monster within me
Was born in a blink
But who’d tune in now?
The opinions are set.
My mind is jay walking
The lines of regret.
The holes in my person
The doubt I can’t sever;
My husk of normalcy
Braving the weather. . .
For what you don’t know
Is what you can’t nurse
Assumptions you draw
Are making me worse.
Conclusions concocted
Your story, enhanced
My path interrupted
Dismissed by a glance.
So I’ll say goodbye;
There’s no seeds to sew
For this is my truth. . .
Confession bestowed.
Still treading his words
That flood to the brink;
Harassed, used, and left
In less than a BLINK.**
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
We all know the story of Romeo and Juliet
But this is the untold story of another fair, beautiful Capulet
Rosaline as you may come to know
Met her demise at the hands of a Montague
She was the first object of dear Romeo's affection
But for dainty Rosaline, Romeo was not her selection.
He desperately tried to win her gaze.
She would only give hints to her hearts twisting maze.
Faithful to her vows of chastity
Another Montague held her key.
Benvolio stole her heart and won her affection
From first glance she was swept away, a true connection
Like the gentle lullaby of a nightingale
Her soul composed a symphony on his instrument could play
Kissed like the petals of a rose by the morning dew
A simple touch of his hand created a overwhelming sensation only they knew
Secretly inseparable, hidden romance
Their houses would not understand, so they took a very risky chance.
Until the day of that faithful fray between Capulet and Montague
Rosaline was caught in the crossfire of the two
Trying to keep the peace she lunged ahead
And at the hand of her true love she was dead.
He had not even a heartbeat to react.
Blinded by hate, a moment he could never take back.
Plagued by loss and despair
As if his lungs had been drained of air.
As the life left her eyes
He died inside.
Tragedy washed over their houses.
And in the end,
Hate won the war,
Love was left mangled and destroyed.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 8:50 AM UTC