I am a girl, and I find you incredibly hot,
And that’s baapre, such a taboo thought!
Yet as you walk up, hair tussled and wet,
I light up inside and break into a sweat.
I tell myself – “do not look, do not flirt!”
But your broad shoulders flaunt through your shirt.
My fingers itch to run their line,
And trace the path to tickle your spine.
Blasphemy! Blasphemy! My society cries,
As each of your strides deepens my sighs –
Your strides towards me as I hold my breath;
A step towards you spells sure social death.
Yet how do I resist the wild in my eye?
Simply being a woman cannot be why
I should be passive, not feel desire;
I’m sure you would love me to be on fire.
Yet society screams: Foul! What shame!
For I gaze at you, and think the same
You are lauded, expected, to think of me:
Natural, rightful, devoid of blasphemy.
… I fantasize your shoulders, marvel at your build,
I would fit, so perfect, in those arms so skilled…
Ha! Society would so love to have me dead,
If it knew all that’s going on in my head…!
… Your grin seduces, your gaze is unflinching,
I hug myself tight, and find myself pinching
My arms, with hopes, that this can’t be true:
So turned on, so dazed, so close to you…
You come – oh so close! – my senses now waver –
I smell your perfume… deva! It’s chocolate flavour…
My heart’s on a spree, god only knows what
I perhaps am thinking, or probably not.
As if I care! You are irresistibly hot,
I don’t feel guilty, it’s a valid thought.
I either get it by peace, or I simply rebel;
Society can shut up and go to hell.
– June 2013