Price of a daughter

She sat in the center, hands clasped tight,

Surrounded by eyes—both left and right.

Men and women, scanning her face,

Measuring worth in silence, not grace.

They searched for flaws, like merchants at trade,

A trembling girl, helpless and afraid.

"Walk," said a woman, sharp and cold,

She glanced at her father—he silently told.

So she walked, though her eyes brimmed with tears,

Each step a memory of childhood years.

Of when her father had held her hand,

And taught her to walk, to rise, to stand.

Now she was paraded, judged and displayed,

As if beauty was currency, and dignity could fade.

They whispered her value, her shape, her skin—

As though marriage was business, and worth lay within.

The father who once held her close in pride,

Now sat silent, with sorrow to hide.

The mother who’d taught her words so sweet,

Now bit her tongue, admitted defeat.

The brother—protector, once bold and loud—

Now joined in the silence of the crowd.

They spoke not of dreams, nor love, nor grace,

But the weight of gold and a dowry's place.

The men made demands with callous ease,

As if bargaining over livestock or fees.

The father pleaded, his hands outstretched,

His soul and savings cruelly fetched.

They named her flaws, stayed firm in price,

Their voices cold, their hearts like ice.

And still, her father bowed his head,

Whispered yes, though his spirit bled.

Then smiles all round, applause and cheer,

“A match is made—a wedding near!”

Not for love, nor joy, nor fate—

But for a girl sold under a gilded weight.