Tag: Virginity

Virginity

    What rests Unspoken in invitation Unrobed by no mortal Unconsummated by sin Unchallenged by vice Uncompromised by guilt Unpledged to god Is a preservative of longing To which there is a counterpart of the soul For two convergent lips will one fated day Bear the weight of twin bodies For kismet is mortality’s

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Virginity

Stringed like a puppet, We dance to the tune of our ancestors, In an education that is passed on From one generation to another. We learn that crossing our legs And wearing a chastity belt is a trademark Of a woman, who believes in love, To the extent of keeping her hull ready To be

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Butterfly

In Sri Lanka, young girls, learn From middle school onwards, that their bodies Are more sacred than temples, only to be embellished With beautiful things, like a gold ring, Which ushers in, the most breathtaking night, When honey-dips take the form Of body fluids; drool, sweat and sebum Gliding out surreptitiously, as she learns The

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Revolutions

It was chaos all over Revolution, the kind that rains Emotions through crowded streets Was now in forward flow. They shouted for the little man That democracy forgets, and Looted the capitalist joints, And there was entropy, Everywhere you looked. And inside a hotel room Around the corner from the revolution. There was another revolution

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Virginity

There are greyhounds that cut across America, carrying colleges students, Freshers and sophomores, to the over-sexed Halls of fraternities and sororities. Here, you find a status quo that drives Young women to sheer desperation After all a culture that only treats The soul with the respect of her skin garment Crushes the long queues of

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Losing Your Virginity

A ribbon swirls It pirouettes in all sorts of twirls and trajectories In the palms of a gymnast in a floor exercise It embellished birthday gifts and certificates of Ph.D.s. It only knows the crispy feel Of a newborn freshness. And I swiveled like a ribbon Danced like a gymnast, gifted my body in sheer

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Autumn

The combed leaves Makes hairstyles on the ground. And the wind – the comb – arranges Tiers, strata, lines, little formations Of how coronation day Is not just about the crown You will inherit, also the beauty Of the strings. Of leaves. Of hair. Autumn is beautiful. It is when you realize The slogan “age

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Hero (Virgin No More)

You fear most things – public places, heights Good looking people, spiders, geckos and little Centipedes. You realize that your fear this You fear that, you fear everything under the sun You have become fear, only a faint glow Inside your irises that a lass sees, and an echo That you hear calling you, like

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