Discounts. - Poem by Hardik Vaidya
When I was a child, I did not know what's a discount.
I never asked for much, because I waited for my own pound.
Then I took a profession, they call it a sales hound.
I sold to people stallions, who they always wanted to mount.
I never lied, I never cheated, fools who don't sell, think unsound.
I tapped into desires, fetish, hidden lust, and gave them a merry go round.
Then I met this word called discount.
They told me your mare is same as his mare, so why should I mount?
They knew he was brighter, his legs far tighter, his spirit soar brighter,
But the liars they always thought they were smarter.
I saw their idiocy, I saw their nudity, just as a whore would see of her master,
But I was to make a sale, not to change their rotten ale, therefore I got the wiser.
But when I am the buyer, and my vendor comes to me with a shaver,
I throw him off my list, because I don't want a bitch,
I want a woman, a soul, a solution, for my ever thirsty itch.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about Discounts. by Hardik Vaidya
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye