A Sex Worker Poem by Akhtar Jawad
A Sex Worker
Someone asked her,
what's your religion,
what's your mother tongue,
what's your nationality,
and what's your race?
She smiled and replied,
my religion is love,
may be for a night only.
My mother tongue is the body language,
universal in nature.
No nationality,
I am international.
And what of my race!
I am a daughter of the Eve!
Kidnapped at the age of five
and thrown down from paradise of home,
to the sex markets of the earth,
you call it mother earth,
for me it's a Hell!
A Hell where I met more than hundreds of Adams' sons
and forgot all of them,
but the one my first customer,
I didn't take any money from him,
how can I forget him!
the oldest profession and still thriving today. says a lot about where we are heading. you wrote it will great compassion sir thank you
Strong poem with a satire on society. Flesh market is prevalent from ages no body knows about its origin. You nailed it with this poem....10+++
The marketing of human beings is an international crisis. Your poem brings the issue to notice, and does so with amazing poetic style
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/27/2024 2:26:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Well conceived and nicely brought forth. An insightful creation Akhtar. Thanks for sharing and do remain enriched.