Her Lot Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

Her perfume fills the air
she is not that fair
next to me devouring my thought
sits the woman a harlot.

By my side in the bus
a traveler of different class
I sit engrossed in her thought
she's a woman then harlot.

I imagine in pensive thought
when a harlot what she's not
what's her lot to force a choice
to let ravagers in her rejoice.

A harlot then she isn't good
not decent is her attitude
she smells of cheap perfume
she reeks of sleazy gloom.

I let my thoughts roam free
how otherwise she could be
what if she wasn't a harlot

yet her body not mind was bought!