Unkind

Unkind

Mostly the doormat
In front of your bathroom door
To stop you nakedness
From dripping onto the floor
The buffer that protects you
From social scorn
Just a dab of vermilion
Your forehead you adorn
Gone are the silken threads
That tied you to my soul
Now I'm the goldfish
That you keep in a glass bowl
Nine yards of modesty
Doesn't hide your shame
When you scatter your thoughts
Yet carry my name
I saw you sneer at her one day
Who starts her work at night
Her workplace the dingy room
Bathed by a single red light
Yes, the one who sells her virtues
That's why you called her a whore
Now look yourself in the mirror
And ask yourself once more
If you wish to be kind
What would you call someone
Who has sold her mind

~ Siddharth Sanyal ~

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