From A Victims’ Eye Poem by Rachana McPherson

There’s no story told like one experienced,
No pain felt like that endured.
Beneath the deck of a ship I was trafficked,
No words given, no care shown

Forced to work at a governors’ mansion,
To heel like a dog to all the commands,
The calm but still forceful and fear-filled nature of the voices,
Made it seem to me like they had done this before.

Done this before,
To perhaps another thirteen year old boy like me,
Whose only wish in life was to succeed and be free so that the proud eyes of a mother he could see.

Or done this before,
To an innocent young girl, whose goals perhaps were set on fighting the de-motivating yet rising socio-economic constraints of life and emerging victorious above them all.

In this I proved,
That the minds and intentions of men are wicked,
As I was subjected to every immoral act conceived in the minds of many men all at once. I WAS A SLAVE.

A slave to men,
Men whom one would think had neither ‘chick nor child’
But who in fact had the perfect nuclear family structure as I learnt later on in this ‘Hell on earth.’

“Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, ”
Words easily spoken and sung but not so easily acted upon,
As scars are easily formed but take a longer time to heal.
SOME LONGER THAN OTHERS.

Even when authorities come to your rescue, and tells you in the voice of a seemingly concerned social worker that, “it’ll be alright, ” there still remains insecurities and hidden wounds, as you know deep within yourself that there is another victim of HUMAN TRAFFICKING.

Another story to be told,
Another pain to be endured.
Another child being trafficked,
Neither words given nor any care shown.

Copyright 2007 ©