Good girls marry strangers
and its whores who fall in love.
One welcome peck on my lips
made me a whore,
and father,
you broke your heart
with your ranting roar.
The puris and paranthas
dripping with ghee,
the red meats and whiskies
were all set free.
And I the one-peck- whore,
sentenced
to the attempted murder of thee.
His tongue fell deaf on your ears,
his skin too dark for your eyes.
Ranting and roaring you settled
to grunting and groaning.
Tapes and tubes in a curtained room,
drips and drops and prescriptions billed.
Yet the blood pumped slow,
till with belts and hilts
I blurted the vow.
You bloomed as I wilted
over a marriage fire.
An excellent catch-
his tongue, his skin, his kin,
all a perfect match.
Your broken heart bypassed
is mended
with your paternal duty
honorably ended.
But look into me father,
loveless I smile
a whore
with a stranger, bedded.
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