The Whore

*The Whore*

Looking for free, taking for a price—
That's the motto of her market.
Any size you want,
Any color you desire,
You'll even find one half your age,
Just keep your pocket warm.
Among the tired faces of the market,
She'll be neat, dazzling.
In the dark shadows or the night's glow,
Her fiery red lips
Will cast their spell on you.
You, steadying yourself,
Choose the one you can afford.
All the way to the lodge, with your eyelids,
Keep stripping her clothes.
She would have long ago tossed away her modesty,
You, just take yours off in front of her.
Be naked.
Her clothes are as good as gone.
Don't expect your fiery ups and downs
To be reflected in her eyes.
She'll be a Barbie doll, breath caught in her throat.
Devour her completely.
If you see helplessness in her dead eyes,
Ignore it.
That helplessness might be for her illegitimate child.
You, just empty yourself into her.
She, however, will never be filled.
Even if countless like you come,
That well remains dry.
Don't befriend her.
Definitely don't fall in love.
Avoid feeling for her heart.
Look at her through words,
Adorn her in poems, flaunt her in stories and novels,
Make her famous in films and plays,
Step on her shoulder and win awards.
It will be easy to experience her existence.
Do one thing before you consume her:
Undress your mind.
Mother, sister, wife, friend, lover—
Spit out every woman you bow down to in your mind.
You'll see the whore hidden within you.

~ajit wakode (ajitov)