O Rapist!

O, Rapist!

I Know (yet) that

You can’t listen to

The jingles of my nerves,

The rainbow brewing

On my lips,

The dreams awaking

In my nightlong hairs,

And

The carnival of soul

in my entire body.

Maybe

Keats was wrong to assume that

“Beauty lies in the eyes of beholders”

He mustn’t have conjured the notion that

“Only flesh lies in the gaze of beasts”

This can tear apart-

The apparel of modesty and blush,

The veil of respect and identity,

The hues of ecstasy and esteem,

The music of equality and essence,

 And the festival of life and mirth.

O, Rapist!

If you think that

Your god lies between your thighs

Then it’s a classic blasphemy

How could you worship

The thing that

Day and night annihilates

The shrine of creation.