Her Life at GB Road

She resides at the heart of darkness -
within the confines of blasphemy.
The walls are painted bright
by the color of anticipated larceny.

She creates melody in bed
but doesn't lend her voice
and stares at the moon;
often marvels at its placid poise.

Her son kites alone
with birds and kites: the world.
Panchatantra falls open
untouched, unread, untaught.

Pity her life, her beauty,
everything gathers dust,
while she dutifully yields
to someone's temptation
and devouring lust.

Notes: GB Road, Panchatantra