Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

America I have a Question.

America I have a question.
Before I ask you to marry me,
Let me tell you I love you.
I love the fragrance of freedom,
That oozes from your pores.
I love the way your hair smells of fresh flowers
Blooms of free speech
I love the way your eyes sparkle
The glow of free thought
I love you America, and I accept you
That scar on your cheek, the sore on your leg
That fear in your mind
The nightmare in your dream
I accept you as a whole
I love you.
Therefore I ask you to marry me.
But that is not the question I wish to ask,
That's a proposal, I can hear you say yes.
The query is queer
The scent of your soul which is so fresh
How much of it is based on the machine of sex?
The sex of wars?
It is just not you alone my love I know.
Miss England, Miss France, And a few other divas more.
Miss Bavaria I am charmed with her you know,
But she is so clever she never lets me in to see her toe.
I have arisen from abject poverty.
My freedom is nascent
I am good at humor, that's why you love my darling.
It bubbles transfixed 15th of August 1947 0000 Hrs.
We too are at a constant state of war my love
We have had our twins shred a hundred times my darling
We have people dying of malaria, malnutrition
My love how much of your scent that I am drugged in
Blooms from the flowers of blood?
My love how much of your scent that I am lost in
Emanates from the strength of your character?
My love god forbid but if after 20 years I was richer to you,
Will you still smell as heavenly, as sweet, as erotic?
What ever your answer,
I still want to marry you.

Submitted: Sunday, April 14, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 03, 2013

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