Hardik Vaidya (26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)
The Rape of Mumbai
The rape of Mumbai:
A city of dreams. Dreams of men. Men and only men.
A diva that rocks, a diva that rolls, a diva that regales in men.
Like droves they come, wanting a piece of her, coy to the core she is.
Drives them to their silly deaths, and laughs, you are not the one for me.
That is what I thought when I came to her as a bee.
To ride or to be ridden is a matter of choice, to ride is a better one.
Men are quick to make their choices as shopping was never fun.
All it takes is a choice to turn the tables of life, out goes the diva and in comes the strife.
The lust of their soul makes her a whole.
Her divinity is a mere flash, the well of her breasts.
Men drink her at will, at every nook, while she stands obediently still.
The blow smoke at her, burn butts into her, be it the biree or the Cuban Cigar.
While she smiles, coys, moans, groans, and waits for the Men to go by.
The children to live in Mumbai, with eyes wide as the blue sky.
Innocence still rules their minds, men waiting to shatter it in sly.
The age of innocence is loosing its life, as Mumbai shortens her hem line
The sparkle of children is fading away as Mumbai drops her neckline
The children are aghast not because of the hemlines or the necklines
Because Mumbai is moaning, groaning, faking, as men pull down her clothes lines.
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