'Flesh-traders'

How does she feel when he warms her
and inserts his flesh into her stoic welcome,
and under the garb of love intense,
robs her of her shame,
and drops into her a proud army of white soldiers -
marks of repression - all, in eleven minutes, and then,
gets up and leaves with no memory or guilt,
and wipes away the wetness - every sign of
his need - and holds his head high
as if it were an unseen dream? How poverty
often succumbs to hypocrites...

Caste

What did she feel when the bare-chested man
with legs apart on the arms of the chair
leaned back and gazed, at her bareness -
forced as a mark of her lowness,
piled on to her defiled existence?
Did she think why she couldn't be
in the chair herself, and why not the very man
with folded arms bow to her and cringe,
with the humiliation of appearing naked to her,
bereft of modesty, avoiding her lusty gaze, more painful
than the worst rape? How they rob you
of the language of dreams...