The Rapist Poem by Palitha Ranatunge

Hey, may I whisper unto thy soul
And pour the pure liquid of my
Budding love into thy virgin heart
Feeling inexperienced palpitations
Presenting such an exotic warmth
Beyond the cradle of childhood
Since the day of thy attainment,

Ay, 'tis a mistake, fatal one
ye despised my true confessions
Of melancholy that swells and sobs
With dismal and pure anger
Pushing my lost soul unto an insanity
And transforming me to a werewolf,

Oh! Dear one, do not make public my crime
Do forgive my emptiness and my folly
Knowing not the irony of practical life
Of civilization that has been manupulated
Our true impulses and compulsions for mating
Into such a dirtiness and a codified intrusion.