Street lights drill holes
through your dress,
as commuters on night buses peep
to catch an eyeful of exposed skin,
then pass on with indifference.
An acquired sense of shame
keeps you in dark by-lanes
from where you watch
the world goes by.
Those who solicit your favors
amid the stench of piss
and pheromones,
abandon you before daybreak.
Society stamps you prostitute,
researchers label you contagion,
cops call you a criminal,
but you are destitute and miserable.
Nobody knows your sorrow
none hears your yell for normalcy;
from pillar to post you run like a mad woman,
fatherless children at your breast.
The prophet who spoke of the first stone
may not be there in the crowd
meanwhile you swallow the insult
and entice another client with a smile!
