The nudes are few these days
The kind which made sorrow smile
Not those, not those at all
Which swell the night with a lapdance
And grab every penny by chance.
The scores of beauty in every land
You know, when they stand
Their shoulders and thighs shaped in command
Tearing a way in eyes for keenest flexibilities,
And then shake they their booty.
Soft as softness ought to be
Walking as they owned and won,the sunny sun in the bright day run .
Not easy to say cheers and see them fake fun.
Would i not raise my glass
Why wouldnt i,
And drink the finest charm and spark
For the young and old dying lark.
For the young and old dying lark
Dreams are shared here,
In signs ,revolts,voices and awards.
As walking as they come ,
they reap their dilapidated reward.
Loved by some,
Unfiltered and touched by many.
No eyes to look in them
Such is the truth, to see them.
A heart to tease them,makes them uncanny.
They may flutter and fall and fade
May leave you unconcerned for a day
Dreams and larks just dont leave the stay
Them fiercest of nudes dont come like yesterday.
They just dont come
Dont they.
Its our going toward this headlong ditch
Its the heap of shame sets one apart.
There aint bare warnings , no bite no bark.
The finest of rum doesnt give me my sway,in any way,
Lost their way i say
Lost their way in the dark.
Yet a little tear,tearing its way through,in all flexibilities.
DAVIDJEEVRAJ. PUNE. 02022021
