me...for hire


a hundred rupee note
and i'm all yours...
for tonight...
or any other night to come...

...i stand there on the curb
waiting for your hungry,lustful eyes to spot me...
at the same time wishing...
that they don't!

...i am not an ordinary teenager...
for i don't feel the joy that one does
on dressing up for her man...
or should i say...
for my 'men'?

...the grease paint on my cracked lips
is smeared on my face...
not out of a fit of passion...
but out of your drunken clumsiness!

...the hands that run over me
have long stopped giving me pleaure...
or did they ever in the first place?

...the man over me does not repulse me anymore...
why would he?...
he would give me enough
to keep my body and soul together...
ironic isn't it?
after all that i have given up...
i'm still considered to be the one sans a soul?

...i always smile...
never out of joy...
hardly out of self-pity...
nor out of amusement
at your constant need for me...
but when i realise...
that once again...
i got mixed up in words and said...
-"it's business doing pleasure with you!"