The prostitute is not vulnerable
A prostitute and a virgin,
Let them take sanyasin,
Who will come out without stains?
With unspent libido in smoulder,
It is nun who commits sin.
An empty vessel does not leak.
A prostitute is a spent force.
14.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
Sanyasin status dilutes
Sanyasin is the one who denounces the world.
The one who has hunger for food,
For power and for sex embraces it
By which one gets all the three at ease.
Devotees are more divine, than a Sanyasin.
25.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midnight Prostitute
There she goes again
Flagging me down in the rain
Yes, she is cute
Midnight prostitute
Roaming the red light district
With conventions of her own so strict
A tenner for an ice cream
Fifty for a lay
A hundred for the day
She is a woman of the streets
A working class brain
In the sunlight she cleanses her stains
I beg of you no condemnation
I beg of you no disrespect
You and I are not even near perfect
There she goes again
Midnight Prostitute
A tenner for an ice cream
Fifty for a lay
A hundred for the day
Marriage for the year
I fear!
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Once upon a time, there was a prostitute called Maria. Wait a minute. "Once upon a time" is how all the best children's stories begin, and "prostitute" is a word for adults. How can I start a book with this apparent contradiction?
Paulo Coelho in Eleven Minutes (2003), translated by Margaret Jull Costa
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Restrict the wants to things in hand
The milk that is not full in a vessel
Can be full in an exact vessel
And even spill over from a smaller one.
Your want is the vessel and things, the milk.
25.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My Motorcycle
i bought one in 1998.
i left it to the care of my
brother-in-law and it was
well taken-cared of. Shiny.
Then he broke his leg
because of the black dog
that crossed the street
early dawn when the
streets are still dark.
then my other sisters
and brothers claim that
they have rights over the
wheel, and the cover and
the steer. I keep my mouth
shut. And they were talking
about the prostitute,
how cheap she was, and
still roams the street at
night looking for her
prey. I think she is the
victim of a vampire.
and then everyone takes
a ride on my motorcycle
inventing the names of
the places they want
to go. I keep my mouth
shut. About the prostitute
about rights that were
not there.
and they ask me about
a name. Who? and they
demand the exact place
where she lives. But most
of them ask me: why?
i guess they know better.
but let me answer them
straight;
The motorcycle is
the prostitute and they
are the ones
who are cheap. They
cheat and i am the victim
and they are the
vampires.
do not ask me now.
i am in the middle of my anger.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A curse to the mother
One invalid begs and the other scavenges.
One dies in an arson, hailing his leader’s
name
And the other dies as a suicide bomber.
One commits suicide and one is a prostitute.
How happy and with what dreams their mothers
Would have been when they gave birth to these children?
Where are they now? If they live it is a curse.
05.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Virgin prostitute
She is the Sun in the morning to slums
And the Moon to isolated drunkards at midnight.
But she never get drowns in shallow waters,
Like a courageous mother she advises to the lost souls
And everybody respects her as she still being a virgin.
*If anybody could stone her though she is a prostitute? No as she stills a Rosebud and her name is Innocence.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Buds and flowers
A poem should not be as blunt
as a prostitute is, in its intents.
Be it a bud with contents
for others to explore and exploit.
A story should not be as stunt
as an impotent is, for its events.
Be it an unfurled flower in focus
for others to stay and scan.
A poem is a bud; a story is a flower.
25.04.200, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sins of sanyasins
I decide to become a sanyasin,
Not that by that will end my sin
But that I get license to sin
And that by it would hide my sin.
08.12.2001, Chennai
[sanyasin = a Hindu
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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How they Prostitute a Poem
It is uniquely easy
For some to sell
Ideals because
Business of absent
Goods is essentially
A sacrosanct but mostly
A flimsy transaction.
Some learn, early on,
To prostitute their verse.
So, in all the waking hours
They scavenge for a simple simile
That matches requirements, fulfills needs.
They barter reality
And every romance
To a blurred triplicate
Carbon-copy World of Hard
Cash and Price Tags and Brand Names.
In this brothel
Of stilled hope and
Stagnated stories, poems
Are born virgin and endowed
With voluptuous figures of firm,
Full breasts and wide hips where men
Prefer to plant their pastime dreams,
Or conceive their seed,
Or merely spite themselves,
Or dabble at domination.
But, the poem, with this
Bogus existence becomes
An adept, untiring prostitute.
Taken
On a starry night,
The poem opens
(dry and drab and dreary:
lacking love and life) like
The paid-for parting
Of the thighs.
(First published in Great Works, UK)
poem by Meena Kandasamy
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Libido is meant to release.
A woman in thought gives you arousal.
You become sensational.
By kiss, embrace, erection, insertion
And emission, libido is released.
By fantasy in masturbation too,
The libido is released.
By monosexual, adultery is tamed.
18.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Elmont
A slave escapes from his owner and now,
He is crowned as a king for all to see;
But i will always meet you between the double walls of love.
I have surely seen the oppression of my people like,
The practice of a female prostitute;
But Elmont my lover is at the bay of the sea of love waiting.
Oh my pleasant one! Come to me;
And do not urge me to leave you my love,
For wherever you go, i will go with you.
I have surely seen the oppression of my people like,
The practice of a male prostitute;
But Elmont my lover is at the bay of the sea of love waiting.
Oh my love,
Lat all your needs be my responsibilities!
And, come and refresh yourself with my love;
Stay the night and enjoy yourself with me,
For, i have surely seen the oppression of my people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Win A Prize
Run the race and win a prize,
For the food is for the stomach and the stomach is for food;
But i will live on always to see you grow.
Slow, glow, blow, flow;
That which was empty is now full,
But he who joins himself to a prostitute is in one body with her.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The superior in sex
The gays have no sex.
The impotents fear sex.
The chaste bar sex.
The liberal don’t value the sex.
The sexy merely excite for sex.
with unspent libido
The introverts are top in sex.
08.06.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I'm just a musical prostitute, my dear.
quote by Freddie Mercury
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Train
The last train walked away
Like a deaf prostitute
poem by Sasha Ioffine
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I don't think a prostitute is more moral than a wife, but they are doing the same thing.
quote by Prince Philip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Innocent are they.
Truth can leak any time.
Lies cannot hide all the time.
The child, the poet and the drunk
Emit or vomit secrets,
Along with lies,
while living in fantasy.
The world of lies
Betrays the grains of truth.
Light and shade makes
An image clear.
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A prostitute is an institute.
More than a sage, more than a slave,
She has tolerance to bear.
More than an ass, more than an ox,
She has patience to steer.
More than a Nirvana, more than a Paripurna, [purity]
She stands blatant before the mass.
More than a priest, more than a Christ,
She prevents the sins of men.
More than a scavenger, more than a downpour,
She cleans the dust of men.
More than a dustbin, more than a ditch,
She collects the waste of men.
She is untouchable, but not in privacy.
She is the candle, losing to the mass.
She is the saviour of women’s chastity.
All slang her as prostitute
And learn art in that institute.
Let her be a woman of respect,
As much as a housewife is.
She’s more virtuous than the wife
Whose morals are susceptible..
10.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I sell myself for the highest price. Exactly like a prostitute. There is no difference.
quote by Klaus Kinski
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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