She applies truckload of makeup,
darker shade of blood red lipstick.
She bleeds inside and outside.
In the dark,
she stands, in the tollgates and bus terminus inviting the unknown guests.
Her genitals screams every night,
screamed in pain, disgust and agony.
The society which call her the epitome of impurity, a coquette and a slut,
has no name to gentlemen, who knocks her door
to satiate their lust.
She lost her viridity before virginity.
She was raped and thrown away at 10,
family abandoned her.
If there was a soul to rehabilitate,
a girl’s life would’ve been preserved.
She vaguely remember the day,
she was pushed into this ditch.
Her body is a grave of fireflies that never glows and her soul is induratized.
Blinded are the hearts who pay her,
who discarded considering her a sin.
Did she ever come with a pricetag to buy or is she a house to rent for hours?
She’s home to grief and distress;
despair and anguish.
When she gathered all the courage to
the constitution still says YES.
If love and lust are connected. Why did no man love her?
Viridity: Naive innocence
Why is Prostitution legal in India if it ruins the lives of woman? The statistics of surveys are so disheartening. I can’t find a conclusion to this poem so, it’s a question.
Thank you so much for reading!🙂