A work or just another bad word? |Deepsikha Roy| |pixtox|
Jewelled in all red and pretended gold, I always have an image to hold. Holding back all the tears, I know, I have a lot more to bear. Bearing the pleasures of other people, My wailing is just a piece of sample. Samplings of joy are what I collect, With the ones I can hardly connect. Love, this is what they make, I was told. But I don't understand why am I not able to take it anymore. Holding the instructions of my head, I am always asked for the legs to spread. Spreading immense of pleasures, a work, I was told. No more do I sense any pain, My madam assumes, I am bold. I practice taking part in sexual activities in exchange of capital. In the unknown world, people call it business. Turning back to the pages of Indian history, the earlier adaptations of us were called as 'devadasi' who considered the Gods as their husbands and therefore contributed their entire lives for the devotion of the same. Later, they were called the 'nagarvadhu' or...