Short Brothels Poems

She sells love for peace
The Saint Of The Brothels 
Is your sister Kong Ming...

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Hills crowd close yonder, 
My cries echo back & forth-
Th' void in my heart.

Blameless Sunday night,
Punished nonetheless: by your
Selfish Monday gloom.

Love does not live here,
Not anymore; ever since
We became brothels....

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Cancel culture

They are coming our way barefoot, and red dust
we sink into apathy.
Churches made into dance halls and brothels.
Christianity is dead, our culture based on our faith
has been debased it, is called egalitarianism.
Banners and sword.
Heads roll down a hill into a blazing valley. 
God has forsaken us....

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The silence shushed the baron
claims slipped through the photo door
imagination or intimidation
the silky fox spreads on the floor

Sticky situation 
former lovers of brothels 
and whores
tell me what's in store

Eyes closed to the sheepish grin
Blocked off from her sin

Rape me again and make me feel
Nothing else is real...

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Underworld gangs are brothels.
Gangsters working in there are sex workers.
Politicians are the clients(Buyers)of these sex workers.
DON is the(NAIKA)of these sex workers.
Police works as a Pimp and law enforcement agencies 
are the spectators and have worn bangles,
ghangri chola,bra,and have become transgender...
Note.My wife is a hooker.....

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turbulent souls
intoxicated by
colours and lines
philosophical downtrodden
jutting clumsy unfinished
works shocking the system
delivered in spasms
they hide in brothels and
beg in taverns for an ounce
of malt and love
to sober
they are destroyed for
their originality and
worshipped later by
the same vultures and
revered as great artists...

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Thrice a summer aphrodisia snickered in my face
Yesteryear the fog of boreal passion surfaced across my window frame
Omnifarious passions are surfacing
The insignificance of homosapiens stood the test of time
Life molests all of us, maul us, then sing us to sleep
Spiraling through dimensions decorated with brothels and strip clubs
Aging with the grains of pebble stones
Aphrodisia is a tourist...

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From steppes remote
    luxurious mink coats
  Fine leather boots
    tailored suits

  Fancy shoppes
    five-star hotels
  Back of splashy nightclubs
    exclusive brothels

  Rolls-Royces
    and Bentleys
  S-t-r-e-t-c-h ... L-i-m-o-u-s-i-n-e-s
    cafes serving the finest cuisine

  Wide-eyed with wonder
    passersby gape
  Dreams of Fifth Avenue 
    from tottering fire escapes...

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Crumble
brothels sprout
flesh peddlers collect their fees
selling daughters
in twos and threes
Lopez or Diaz
lazy or defiant
escaped
in polluted lagoons
the virus spreads

Dancing with the dead
priests absolve the devils
in their mist
Pilar sold her virginity
for a few bars of gold
wrapped in an old ladies hatred
she murdered her vows

Mexico is a land of smiles
the knife only glints
in the Aztec sun
as they bury you
after eating your heart...

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Clean, green, and grassy
Goddesses in the streets
Atmosphere lost in lust
Tourists appetite satisfied by the goddesses
An army of palm-wine cascading from the Duke's town
The resurrection of Honesty at the scent of palm wine
Peacocks full of pride, a symbol of the efiks
Silent as we descended from the devil's bow
Ranch ranting
Girls trading
Boys smoking
Snails snoring
Angels in the brothels
Trees  trimming
Devils in the church
Yes, a holy a combination
Yes, this is Calabar


awoh awoh...

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