A poignant poem, full of pathos, for women who sell themselves to survive, by Sarala. An exclusive for Different Truths. 

She stands at the window, 
Wearing a dark orange lipstick 
And a nightie too bright 
To brighten her up 
She calls out to the men passing by 
Sometimes she whistles and winks, 
A horror sight is she,
Feeling sorry for her state 
Sorry for being born!
She suffers from malnutrition and is feeble,
Her eyes, pale and weak –  
Lending her flesh to drunken men. 
She has been dragged,
To this hellish dirty place 
To attract men 
To earn her living and for her parents
And siblings  
She stinks of drinks and cigarettes, 
She cries and calls out,
I am here for your needs, 
Rip me apart, I don't care, 
I have been torn apart many a time, 
Come and have me for fun!
Men come and go many times, 
She lay unconscious, bleeding, 
She limps and takes out another 
Bottle to energise for the next lot of men!
She has been behind the four walls for years –  
She lost her youth and beauty, 
But she carries on with her weary and tired body,
Till she is unable to move!
God have pity on these girls,
Who are living in hell,
Satisfying the lust of men
With no one to love or take care!
God come to the mercy of these 
Girls, who were born as angels,
In this world
But poverty killed their beautiful dreams!

Visual by Different Truths

Sarala Balachandran

Sarala Balachandran was working with an import-export organisation in the administrative department for 38 years. She retired eleven years back. Married, with two sons aged 43 and 36, she took interest in writing recently. She writes free verses.