This Poem Is Every Helpless Sex Worker's Story Who Gave In Because She Was Too Poor
The Mirage
Draped in a colourful saree,
Few bangles, and an anklet
Broken by the force of lust
And a red blouse till her arms
A vamp not in vain.
With shingled locks, pale face
She tells a different tale.
As silent as a petrified soul
Eyes sparkle as she sees a 'man'
Rather a fat pay-check she seduces
Her soul cries out, as she prepares
To satisfy their greed, their desires
And her needs as well.
Blame her, or her poverty
Even her beauty couldn't help much
Maybe except, fetching 'customers'
Too poor to get a good job, a decent one.
Without means and support
She gave in; into the hell of brothel
A challenge, bit too big, she accepted
Without the slightest regret in her eyes
Maybe childhood was fun, everyone says so
Play all long and mischief
Too innocent and naive
To understand the ways of the world
To know the devil
Behind those greedy eyes.
Reduced to a mere name,
Denuded of honour and dignity,
She wanders along
To search life within existence.
Leaving behind the shackles of bitter truth.
She knows life's tough; She ain't complaining.
For life's about compromise,
And moving on,
Like the silent brook,
She's contented
Happy amidst her miseries.