When I Missed You Poem by lalitha iyer

Once I missed a man
in my teens
he was my greens
so fresh a youth he was
and flaming rage it was
he stood touching the sky
and tough as wood of wild
life was pouring from his
as if the air would sink me deep
the age was that of mirages
every pit was oozing with oceans
and every stone was sparkling gem
the air was full of kisses
and heart filled with wishes
he looked down me
and there I melted a candle
the sound of steps he took
send currents of electric tricks
that was what a loss
I thought, when his wife I cost
but, now when as age creeps on
when the air of films flimsy
rained by life truths messy
cleared up, I say, cleared up
when no hormonal disorders
twinkle the looks and twists the hips
as the moon does not kills you
and earth does not hugs you
any man is just a sperm injector
and Creator's machine for pollination
the only source of human multiplication
attached with necessary tools of contrivance
detached to the single handed motivation
with only to seed and seed anyway and everyway
just to finish the one and only operation
the presence of him is just nothing
not just nothing, but he makes me hate
hate what life is and abhorr the beast in his heart
but for the beast, a man is not whole
and but for the man, the beast is dead
man and the beast like a coin of lust
reverse and there he is
is he the tailed head or the headed tail
everywhere he issues, unlicensed
his survival depends on his sperms
his identity marked by the count of germs
now that that part of life is over
I find everything is just a cover
a cover to just litter
just to litter and our youth is just a joke
to poke is a joke and joke is that poke

yet, now when everything is clear
what the hell am I doing here
I miss me, nomore am I a woman
for the man in me I has kicked down
I will woo no more man
all this is an insult
to creativity, yet pupilling self
why dress young women, but for lying
why lying if no child is coming
why child if too many is too sad
why do young women dashingly dress
are they all the prostitutes fresh
all the lasses from twelve to thirty
the blooms to be fooled
by creator's mysterious rod
all sensuality and romantic verses
all divinity succumbing to satanic curses.