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Pradip Chattopadhyay
Poems
Feb 2014
Her Lot
Her perfume fills the air
she is not that fair
next to me devouring my thought
sits the woman a harlot.
By my side in the bus
a traveler of different class
I sit engrossed in her thought
she's a woman then harlot.
I imagine in pensive thought
when a harlot what she's not
what's
her lot
to force a choice
to let ravagers in her rejoice.
A harlot then she isn't good
not decent is her attitude
she smells of cheap perfume
she reeks of ****** gloom.
I let my thoughts roam free
how otherwise she could be
what if she wasn't a harlot
*yet her body not mind was bought!
Written by
Pradip Chattopadhyay
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