Biwi
Her deep-set eyes smouldering
Openings to a melancholic scorched soul
Laced with Vodka and neglect
Someone, get her vials and fresh air
Oh those violent eruptions on her bare back
Those tendrils on her thighs bursting
With unrequited passion, what could she have done?
Suffer the insolence in a sepia-stained world
Of a man but a relic of his antediluvian dissipations
Or take in a new dishy lover
Who ignited her darks as she crossed the Rubicon?
Only to return to her safe haven
When it was showtime
Bring on the gunfire, please
A recurring theme in life as silver screen
Blame her if the toyboy wanted more than her body?
In an arena where men play perfidious games
Where women are reduced to queens stroke mistresses
She has the last sardonic laugh
Her dignity preserved, her neurosis dumped
Call it the story of one woman’s desolate fecundity
And her tempestuous trysts
One man’s nights of alcohol, desire and line
Another man’s opportunism, lust and longing
Shorn of atmospherics, this could be our story
Of getting the balance right
Of our irredeemable pasts and redeemable futures
Gentleman in flannels or gangster with rap
Dare trifle with the emotions
Of a quintessential woman, a fireball in flesh
A master of masquerade and circumstance
Those curves can seduce you to a love-induced slumber
Or blow your brains apart
01 October 2011
Inspired by Saheb Biwi aur Gangster
