A Call Girl's Aside

                   

               I am like a reusable roadside litter bin,

          Where men dump their vulgar spirit in;

          Vigorously they play their indoor games,

          Without registering their given names.

          Never do I recall any of their fragile faces

          Fleeting as they are, fixing their grimaces.

          Forms of men come and go in my dreams

          Like a crumbled structure’s broken beams.

          I have to act in a series of robotic romance

          Behaving as if I was, in an unending trance.

          Men come to see me just as a trunk less form

          Pushing my thoughts into a traumatic storm.

          Missed calls always abound in my mobile phone

          As I lie days and nights, like a lifeless cold stone.

                                                                         P.Chandrasekaran