A Whore Called Maxine (2009)

There lived once, a whore called Maxine. In the bowels of every city she lived

A life feeding on greasy crumbs, thrown in jest at her by pleased guests.

A gentle hostess, Maxine let her guests fulfill any fantasies, feed on her

The way they wanted to and then leave when she was spent and numb.

No qualms ever crossed her conscience, or no persistent super-ego ever

Tore at her for choosing such means to an end. She was doing all that she 

Could do best. Please a hunger which no emacipated soul can ever quench.

Forced into mediocrity, raised in strife, throttled with competition- she is now a whore.

There was a time when people had relations that she had to keep. People had hopes that she Had to share. They had dreams that she had to see and 

Expectations she had to keep and live up to. Soon enough, the seasonality

Of these, drove her into the streets where at least the cold roads, the thick air

And the leaking houses are faithful. They show what they were, are and will be.

She sang. She could sing. In modest gatherings where people of principles

And values took seats of dignity she sang. Now, those figures of stature seem

Like insects and reptiles crawling up her stairs to feed. She is a good Hostess, our Maxine. Never placing their shining pasts on their present.

But, maybe thats the way with the calling such as this. You feed but are not fed. You dont judge, But are judged. You dont stop entries but are shown Exits, the moment the cold coins hit your Palm. Even love is scared to walk up Her stairs and ask for a glass of rhenish wine to replenish itself. 

As, unselfish he is... He cant bring himself to breathe her air, share her bed, eat from her plate And cleanse the body. Love is too righteous for that. Too Emancipated to look at her from a Height that is light years away. Her calling

That feeds her cats, pigeons and ducks cannot feed that crevice in her Bosom hungry for a Tinker of light. 

That light is not there... It isn't a light or a shining ray of unequited hope. It is

But a mere reflection pretending to be in full glory of values created on beds.

Just like the moon, ever shining but devoid of life from self, this is the calling

That she chose without help. This is life...