A craft of mankindA Poem by Digvijay SinghThat's what she is. A vessel with alluring long neck and appealing curves in the middle. Used for lusting the pity random men walking the evening. Emptied of her thoughts, of her stories and her blood, she now just pours pleasure on the bodies of unknown companions every other night. Indulging their and only their wishes. "Oh i like the way your skin smells" they all say but then why she finds herself in the rugged bed sheet laying alone even before it's dawn. "I like your moanings" they'd say. Why are you deaf when she cries you stories where she's scared. You like her fingers on your skin in the dim light of a room of course. Why don't you hold her hand then in the daylight of spring? She may laugh in the summer on the same joke she's told hundredth time. What about the last August's rain still thundering in her present. How long would it take, how long of this men to men passing, an earthen pot can take. It would slip somewhere on the dead stone floor and break to pieces. But you do not care do you, As long as she moans right, laughs again on the same joke and doesn't ask you to stay. After all, That's what she's. A vessel. To pour herself again tonight. © 2020 Digvijay SinghReviews
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2 Reviews Added on February 9, 2020 Last Updated on February 9, 2020 AuthorDigvijay SinghFaizabad, Uttar Pradesh, IndiaAboutAbout me.. Will slip a line or two in stories.. keep reading. more..Writing
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