Picking Up the Pieces

I normally write about things and hope that they are self-explanatory ( though how I can imagine others to understand the ramblings of my mind when it often leaves me confused, i don’t know!) So anyways, I just wanted to give a little background to what prompted this write-up.

While blessed to be born with a female body, I am horrified at the way it is objectified, degraded and finally disposed of in so many parts of the world. Those who are involved in the sex trade, especially in countries like India, know that they might not have chosen their vocation, but they are stuck with it for life. These women live in absurd conditions and so do their children. There is no whimsical story that the mother can weave to cover the dirty reality they live. For a “pimp”, a woman is useful so long as she agrees to be used. He cannot allow rebellions lest they provoke others to do the same. So he squashes it the easiest way possible – by silencing it and her for ever. One more body thrown in the garbage dump to fester and add to the stench of life. These women who have no say over their own bodies, also have no say over their lives. Everyone turns a blind eye… and life goes on. What could be a big horror?

 

In the dark of the night, as the whole world slept

The silence was shattered as a little girl kept

Sniffing and crying,

Failing yet trying

To pick up the pieces of her mom before they were swept.

Written for the Weekly Limerick Poetry Challenge by Mind And Life Matters.

 

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