'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!