Sounds of the heart. Whispers of the soul.

Satyamev Jayate

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 will they write on my tombstone?

As i nestle in the bosom of my mother, warm and safe, I pause to look around.
You, my father, i see toiling in the sweat and dirt, digging, my grave.

I look at you, my mother;
I see no love, no pain, no strain.
I look at you, my father;
I see no regret. Only disappointment.

You stop. I see.
My new bed is nice and deep.

My father, you turn to look at my mother;
Your eyes talk.
My mother, you feed me again; Your lips move to hum a tune;
It’s the lullaby you sang every night the last 30 nights.

I understand. This is my last meal.
I smile at you my father, I smile at you my mother,
as you lay me in my new bed.

What will they write on my tombstone?
Here lies my girl, who died before she learned to smile?
Here lies my girl, who was killed – a girl is not such a good deal?

Will I ever receive a bunch of lilies?
or even a single red rose?
Will the grass around me be green?
Or will i be surrounded with withered weeds?

I look around my new bed.
The earth is all dry and cracked – cracked like grandma’s tired feet.
Will you, my mother, my father, cry a little tear?
Wet the earth a little so a flower may appear?

I close my eyes, and keep the smile.
This new blanket, the color of my eyes, will keep me warm for life.
I will now sleep in the caress of a new mother;
and the company of a million new sisters.