Life’s Irony Poem by Saratchandra Sahoo

A pretty, middle-aged willowy widow
whose life has been a void
in her prime
goes unnoticed;
her hard-luck tale unheeded;
the tearsoaked, plump face
grimaced at!

Passers-by hurrying past her
wrinkle up their noses,
but crazy fellows
walking straight past her
moon over with an eyeful
of her chubby cheeks.

They bat their eyelashes
at her belly button.

The firm swell of her breasts,
with the cleavage,
the upper part of which
is sticked out,
and the swaying of the hips
keeping time
with a spring in her step
drive them mad after her.


But the sight
of a small-breasted woman
with a dazzlingly expanding waist
carrying love handles
just above the waistline;
the wisps of hair
hanging limply
over her forehead;
her dimpled cheeks
exuding perfume
at a shopping arcade
or at a roadside kiosk
make their eyes rest on her.

But the irony is that
a stray kid
or a poor wretch
picking scraps thrown
at the wayside gutter
or on the train lines
appear odious!