The Working Woman
From today, i plan to post a few of my so called poems in frequent intervals. Some of them are a bunch of crap and some of them not so bad. A lot of them talk about elements of sadness. I am afraid that despair does drive people to write unconnected words and then derive meanings from them
Sun sinks into the far away sky, settling
Itself into a deep slumber, away
From all that it does not want to see, shrinking
Into its cocoon of night
City lights blaze wildly, towering beyond into
The dark, denizens rise from deep slumber
As night wraps its cloak over, a soft touch
Whispering silence into the aftermath
Honking drivers carry them, into little streets punctured
With shorter frames, doors and windows seem meshed
Into a tight grip, faces extract from within, bodies
Move into the glowing crimson
Lithe and supple, fat and voluptuous, they stand
Tantalizing you to reach out, touch them, feel them, give in
To their longing gaze, depravity hints light
Behind their sultry eyes
Gaudy paints across their face, rag tags adorn
Their overworked frame, strategic slits show themselves
And with it, alabasters made of blood, pouting lips
Send silent invitations to onlookers and wanderers
A silent whisper, soft badinage, sudden laughter
And teasing gestures, soft hands, ages of experience
Shows you the way, the terms fixed, the money exchanged
All is ready, as you follow, eyes down, head covered
The eyes betray once more, silent tears fall
But mechanical hands work fast, the light
Extinguished, all that is heard, the breath hard
And fast, and the silent cries
