Nazmahal, Sonnet (Palace of Grace) | Abhijit Naskar | When The World Cries Blood

Love is nothing to be ashamed of,
if there is no filth in your heart.
If your heart is pure and chaste,
you have no reason to be shy or scared.

Shame and fear are mark of filth,
heart without blemish is icon of honor.
Basic flaws are part of everyday life,
but perversion isn’t a flaw, it’s dishonor.

I’ve never looked at a person with
filth, unless permitted otherwise.
It’s consent and context that
distinguish fondness from filth.

Lovers ablaze are resident of Nazmahal*,
perverts have no place in *palace-of-grace.
Honor is in the eye of the beholder,
without which all mind is disgrace.