Her perfume fills the air
she is not that fair
next to me devouring my thought
sits the woman a harlot.
By my side in the bus
a traveler of different class
I sit engrossed in her thought
she's a woman then harlot.
I imagine in pensive thought
when a harlot what she's not
what's her lot to force a choice
to let ravagers in her rejoice.
A harlot then she isn't good
not decent is her attitude
she smells of cheap perfume
she reeks of sleazy gloom.
I let my thoughts roam free
how otherwise she could be
what if she wasn't a harlot
yet her body not mind was bought!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Everyone has faults as well as virtues. Who are we to judge what another does? That is not our responsibility, nor our right. What a kind, thoughtful poem!