Sounds of the heart. Whispers of the soul.


Rape in the City

They snatched me in a noisy and crowded street.
A thousand pair of eyes, but not one blinked.
Two thousand feet, but not one moved.
A thousand voices, but not one screamed.
Only one scream was heard. Mine.
Loud. Shocked. Surprised. Full of anguish.
A scream that silenced the noisy, chaotic street.

The ride in the car felt dark and deathly.
Darker than the windows of the car.
Darker than the fake black leather seats.
Deathly with my earnest prayers for a death, rather than a miracle.

These men took their time.
Each man had his time.
My screams, tears, and pain.
in their abuse, laughter, and pleasure.

How can the pain of one human,
be the source of pleasure in another?
How can the shame and humiliation of one human,
be the sense of pride and achievement in another?

Why do I call them men?
Can I even call them animals?
These are the filth, the scum which even the earth shudders to embrace.
These are the puss that oozes from dead, rotten, maggot infested corpses.

I will walk the streets in fear and shame;
trapped in my pain and anger, bound by the scars of the crime.
They will walk the streets free and a strange pride.
I was not proof enough that they committed such a heinous crime.


The Price of Me

It should have been the happiest days of my life.
I should have found the person of my dreams,
my companion for life.

I should have found new parents, brothers, sisters,
a whole new family.
I should have found happiness, security, and love.

I found nothing.
I found myself being sold.
I found myself buyers, trading and bargaining.
I found my worth –
a car, and 500grams of gold.

And, I was sold.
I was now off the shelf.

A new home. A new life.
A new maid for the house.
A new whore for my partner.
A new mat to be stomped and walked all over.

The car I gave was not big enough.
The gold, what gold they said???
And for every day until their greed was met,
I was sold for a month, a night, an hour.

My torment continued, as means to
squeeze and snuff the life out of my poor old parents.
Soon, there was nothing left to give.
Soon, there was no one left to give.

I was not as good as a maid now.
I was frail, and rotten now.
I could no longer be the whore to satisfy the lust of men of the house.
I had expired my shelf life.

So I found myself being bathed in gasoline.
Very generous with the fuel, unlike with
the one meal I received every other day.
The final puff of my husbands cigar, begins the fire in which I burn.

I sit down, engulfed in the fire.
I do not feel any pain.
I only feel relief.

It ends today.
I look into the eyes of my sister in law.
A smile that I had lost returns to my eyes and curves around my lips.
It begins tomorrow.

What would you do?

In the solitude of the night,
thoughts of a miracle comes to my mind – you coming to me.
But then what would you do?

What would you do?
Would you take me in your arms?
Hug me so tight to squeeze out all the pain I feel.

What would you do?
Would you place my head in your lap?
Ruffle my hair so I can close my eyes and fall in a peaceful slumber.

What would you do?
Would you cup my face in the palm of your hands?
Your soft caress soak up all the tears I shed.

What would you do?
Would you bring your lips close to my ears?
Whisper a soft, sweet, “It’s gonna be Ok. I am here.”

Day breaks. I am still with my solitude.
You did not come to me.
The miracle and the answers will come another day.

Eyes Behind The Burka

As I walked back home,
lost in thoughts of my own.
Ahead a figure walked towards me,
dressed in a burka, black.
Black like the eyes that looked at me.

Black eyes looking into my eyes brown.
Looking, reaching somewhere deep within.
Eyes that had a secret longing.
Eyes that had an unbearable yearning.

Eyes that held tears of an unknown plight.
Eyes that held dreams of a better life.
Eyes that knew dreams weren’t meant to be.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

What was it like living behind a veil all your life?
Like the moon behind dark clouds every single night.
Trapped in a cell with only darkness and thee.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

The look in the eyes will forever haunt me.
The simple questions always perplex me.
And next time, I’ll look down,
afraid forever to look into the eyes.
Eyes behind the burka that looked at me.

The kid with brown hair

He had brown hair.
Hair that was once black.
But now burnt,
begging all day in the harsh sunlight.

He was very tiny. Young and lean.
But his eyes looked old in spite of him.
He was waiting, his eyes gleaming.
A film crew had just finished feasting.

He looked hungry. His stomach and spine one.
He was pathetic; he might as well have died.
He had watched the stars dine;
Hoping for a morsel with their each bite.

He stared at their dirty dishes
with the food they had wasted.
There was more food than
he had ever had in a week

He looked at the cook, hope in his eyes.
The cook glanced at him with little mercy.
A cleaner had started picking up the dishes,
emptying all the food in a waste bin.

The boy now turned his attention
to the cleaner with the bin.
He tagged behind him,
hoping to find the treasures that lay within.

The man picked up the bucket
and walked to the end of the street.
Four German shepherds stood there,waiting,
alert, hungry and on a leash.

The boy stayed behind,
wary of the furry beasts.
The man looked at the kid,
emptied the bin and fed the beasts.