Bazi alis Subrata Ray
The Lament Of A Fallen Girl
The Lament Of A Fallen Girl!
I know am a pearl,
Often in the day time,
They call me a nasty girl,
I am delicious food,
I am drink to mitigate thirst,
I am a bed to rest,
I rise when the sun sets in the west.
I have no father as the common girls have,
My mother fostered me in the dark street,
I saw her yielding, serving for food and shelter,
I felt how for me she did bother!
I do not claim your jilted decency,
Nor do I have any faith in your word,
You put trap and catch a bird,
And make it a roast for your drink,
You the politicians, you the corporate,
You pollute the earth and reset its fate!
My mother was a daughter of a pious farmer,
Her father trusted a son of an earl,
And she at her adolescence winged her willow cast,
The aristocrat swine, took her away for feast of wine,
Then she was a sale, in a brothel,
Some months before my tragic birth.
I remember my early teen,
When I was less than fourteen,
The greedy eyes and swell tongues,
From my mother’s clients upon me hang.
I remember the occasional presses,
And violent intake of poisonous kisses,
From society figures and masquerades,
And still I feel their blacksmith –like deals,
And see myself pitted on society’s anvil.
You are not the first person to hear my tale,
Many a broken-wing vagabond and tragic hero,
Many a fate-stricken society’s zero,
With storm and turmoil finger my bell,
And seek life’s Heaven in my living hell.
I am a licensed-leisure with clock-tick hour,
Often an escort for your travel –trip,
You furrow my land without putting seed,
You seek my art in every part, but not my heart,
And never you wish to know my feeling,
I know your demand and service of my dealing.
Ah! I had I had my own sorrow and whim,
A happy family –home as my dream,
A faithful husband with children two or three,
Could I have Sabbath and church-prayer free!
Oh no! Your time is over, you may go,
Do you hear the pimp? Yes you hear,
I have half an hour to attend the next client,
And to repair the ravage, and a beguile smile.
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