The Lamp-post, My Sweetheart!

A dirty lamp-post that I called my sweetheart,
It stood there, waiting for me
Every night, in a raunchy street.

Through the canteen, I passed by
And the undisclosed infatuation and the pervert thereof
Chide me every single night, and my humility, so humbled
Hug it so tight; it refuses to let me go.

Thus it became my sweetheart.

A step aback and a glance
Moments later,
My wife back home,
Her warm beguile
And some splendid creatures in the lawn,
They all forbid me my domestication with the lamp-post;
They all afraid, I am alone
And I wonder how do they know!

By the infidels,
They called it the blot, but
For me it is a replenish theme on life.
By the faithful,
They called it passion, but
For me it is dream-song.

It stood there, all by itself
Asking questions and looking for an asylum.

It is indeed my sweetheart.