• Under the Raintree Festival

'The Centre of Probity' by Dattatreya Chanda

3 pm tea, and a laughter spree

She smiles at your face, she lets it be;

You’re too near her hair, your fingers don’t fear-

And that’s what you call your liberty?

She tires at her desk, glued to the screen

You sneak for some chat and then you begin;

Your breaths on her neck and your arms, her prison-

And is that your way of casual fling?

In a room full of minds, her diligence shines

She gathers her words and sketches her lines;

You find that too greasy for your shrinking spine-

Does your parched throat seek some masculine wine?

Your organised niche, your decorated wall

Stationary and laurels, your profile stands tall!

Your entitled mind and arrogant heart-

Are you a muck or a stinking pervert?

Her anger, her sorrow, her utter despair

Her refusal, her agony will cost you dear;

She isn't a crumpled trash of pity and blame-

She will welcome you to the Hall of Shame!

Wish you knew her worth at work

She isn't a toy for your free-time lark;

Wish you could value her equality-

Of wisdom, respect and integrity!

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