What it means to be loved, When I am here in pain, Crashing apart at your words? Look then, look at me How bruised I am, How badly I bleed, tired- Tired of holding these threads, Like chains which only fetter me.
What of all this is truth Your candied words Or bloodstained hands That have murdered me In bits and parts Over days and months .
What it means to be loved, When I am here in tears? Is it a lie that love brings joy? Then where is the peace, the joy! You stand tall in claims, while I Smile, sighing silently, Maybe today love becomes bliss, But then again I fall, As you look up to the sky. What it means to be loved! Is it all a utopian dream?
Last week, wrote two poems on prostitution and the dark sides to sex work. (Gajra and Veshya) Just when I was about to go to bed last night, the woman inside me told me not to. And my fingers opened google and in no time did I see myself reading up the heart wrenching stories on sex slavery, human trafficking and forced prostitution. The horrible realities, no one talks about. And what I read, shook me. Viewer's discretion advised: IF YOU ARE WEAK HEARTED OR UNDERAGE, STILL READ. FOR THIS IS THE BRUTAL REALITY OF OUR UGLY RACE AND IT NEEDS TO BE KNOWN. #dontbeagandhari Who "chose" to be blindfolded. ____________________________________
My fingers tremble as I type this, but I know, I'm not gonna stop. Sex work as we all know what it is, is a horrible horrible reality that unfortunately still exists in 21st century. As I put it, "A business in which humans trade their own skins and kins in exchange for paisa". And most often, women. WOMAN. YES. SHE. SHE THE CREATOR, SHE THE MOTHER AND THE DAUGHTER AND THE GENESIS OF ALL LIFE IS THE ONE MADE TO GO THROUGH THIS HELL IN MOST PARTS OF THE WORLD.
// Open the newspapers girls, the headlines will make you feel ashamed of having a vagina//
____________________________ [[ "They beat me mercilessly with a belt, sticks and iron rods" ~Meena, India.
They regularly drugged her so she would fall unconscious and 'clients' could do with her as they pleased. ~Aisha Parveen, Pakistan. The other girls at the brothel where she was kept, were forced to sleep naked so they would be too embarrassed to attempt escape.
At age 6, she was taught by her alcoholic, drug addict teen mom, how to perform oral sex on men. "Like a lollipop" She explained. At age 14, she ran away from home only to land in the arms of a pimp who made her believe he loved her, as he prostituted her. ~Shelia Faye Simpkins, USA.
"There was one guy and I didn't want to do what he wanted me to. So he beat me up, because he was drunk" ~Marinela Badea, Romania.
" He said, 'Do you want a client?' I didn't understand what it meant but I knew it was bad. I said no. Then he brought me to a room for punishment " ~Sreypov Chan, Cambodia. Sreypov was forced to have sex with as many as 20 men in a day, seven days a week for years. "I wanted to die" She said. ]] ____________________________
Just reading this, makes me shiver under my skin. Imagine what it must be to live a life like that. And here we are, crying over break ups. What have we become? Monsters in our own skin. Why do we always want to establish power and control over everything that is vulnerable?! Why can't we just let others be?? Is sex so much of an uncontrollable desire? F those feminists who scream slogans of "sex work is work" NO. no it isn't. And it never will be. I agree there are women willingly into this, but MAJORITY of women and children HAVE BEEN FORCED. To such fake feminists, for once, go and have a look at the red light zones and look at the miserable conditions these women are made to live in. Unaware of their past, present, future, they are living, like mere corpses, only breathing. Devoid of all the facilities, respect and kindness, they go through hell every each day.
" ए मर्द, है कैसा ये तुझको ग़ुरूर अपनी मर्दानगी का? इतना ही गर्व है अपनी ताकत का, तो जाके देख सोनागाछी और कामाठीपुरा की गलियों में आज भी बाजार भरता है और तेरी ही बहनो की बोली लगती है... रोक सकता है तो रोक ले, बोली लगाने वाले भी तेरे जैसे ही मर्द होने का दावा करते हैं। "
~Aish ____________________________________ *Paisa- Money in Hindi. *Lines between the brackets, source: 'Stories from Brothels' -Scoopwhoop
Karbala , for us, lives everyday, In a world of today, like a demon endlessly casting its shadows over, There stands the black flag, A veil to the bruised, A shroud to the martyrdom, A symbol of mourning.
A tale of endless narrative has it been, When the gallant hearts were plucked, The Illuminating heads were slit, While the deserted throats yearned for a drop.
A tale of triumph resonates in the air, Recalling you, the bravest hero, The world calls out your name proudly, Thus you shall live in us to end of days, Though they celebrated for a day But you lived the centuries, ruling hearts, And the centuries, yet to come.
A tale of loss bleeds through the roads, These beats mourn the sufferings taken, The streets lament the tyranny.
Karbala, for us, lives everyday, A hope for victory, an end to tyranny.
The day I find you, My soul will roam naked in your streets. I'll dance to your beats, and kiss the dust of your feet. The day I find you, I'll shred apart my skin and let you see through. The day I find you, I'll no longer be me!
Pain, they say, creates poetry, Should I then bleed once again? And write a secret ode, To the distant heart, Inking my melancholia.
Poetry, they say, is ailment of hearts, How beautiful is this bond Of pain and of poetry?
Should I embrace you then, Show you the desolate chamber, As the ink of these leaves; My wounds shall write, For the season of fall awaits To scatter the stories of silence And reach the hearts in time, Breaking the ones of illusion, Mending the ones of harsh truth.
So then Will you be the pain, As I become the poetry? A bond so permanent, So real, a bond of us.