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Found this poem that I wrote back in 1993. It won an award from UNICEF and CRY in the “social issues, teenage” category in 1995.
Nobody knew the pain I was masking when writing this.
Dark brown eyes which are red because of crying
All hopes of escape and freedom are dying.
Clothes have been torn, hair is a tangled mess
The face has lost all of its childishness.
Hands and feet show marks of the whip
Blood flows down from the cracked, parched lips.
Since the past three days no food has been eaten;
The faith in God stands totally beaten.
Only seventy-two hours have passed since the time
There was laughter in life and the bright sunshine.
There were mother, father and a lovely baby brother
So what if they lived in a hut near the gutter?
There was dearth of money and they couldn’t eat well
But life was peaceful, and who had thought of such hell?
Loving neighbors, all sweepers by profession,
Who cared but were financially in depression.
City life was expensive and father wanted the best for his son
So he came up with an idea that would give him returns!
The very next day he came wearing a new coat,
In his hands he held hundred rupees’ ten crisp notes.
Life changed its course from that very moment
But there was no thunder, no lightning in the firmament!
The door creaked open and light illuminated the room
That hulk of a man, that lubber, spelt doom.
The message was to ask her if she would come
A customer was waiting, feasting on whiskey and rum;
She was too tired to resent any longer
Moreover the louts were much, much stronger.
They washed her clean and gave her a dress
How she looked — is anybody’s guess.
She was led to a room where she would spend the rest of her life
A girl of ten, followed by a lecherous man of 35…
