The Sex Worker Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri

I had my colored dreams
Which smelt so pretty good
You know on these evenings
I take out my oldest dreams
Like fine-smelling old clothes
At the bottom of my steel trunk.
It feels good to smell them
And put them back in a hurry
For fear of losing their smell.

I have seen it happening
And have stopped caring.
The worms of his fingers
Are crawling on my belly
As I duly close my eyes
In pretended half-rapture.
I have enacted perfectly
The sounds of the explosion
In the inner spaces of body
As thick dark smoke rises
From my body and spreads
Towards the dome of the sky
Obfuscating the orange sun.

Then I climb the roof to hear
The crickets take over the night.