Stolen Innocence

 "Stolen Innocence is a poem which speaks on behalf of Chandini and Bishti, two young girls who were subjected to the social evils of human trafficking and forced prostitution."

CHANDINI

I was 16,

When I was sold for the first time, like a broken doll, unwanted. 

I wish I could tell, I was an orphan

Not having parents, 

Who sold me to lustful unknown men, like a broken doll, unwanted and cheap. 

The men wanted me to dance,

I didn't know how to.

They wanted me to dance, not to the music,

But to their tunes, twisting and turning every possible curve of my body, 

Being an object of lust to them, 

Throwing away my dignity, which I held onto, 

To a place that will never be found. 

When I refused I was drugged,

Pushed into oblivion, 

And allowed my senses to be senseless, again. 

Mercilessly beaten till I submitted.

The scars on my body, old.

The scars on my soul, afresh.

My mouth felt muddled when I said what they demanded from me, 

It's a dirty word called " sex". 

I didn't want to do it. 

I was disgusted. 

It's the dirtiest thing anyone could ever experience,

I told myself. 

When I tried to escape, 

I was raped,

I was forced upon,

" she deserves this", They said.

My clothes were torn apart, 

Every inch of my body destroyed, 

My virginity was broken without my will, 

My sanctity destroyed, leaving me aghast at myself. 

A loud cry of intense pain, and that's all I remember. 

As I lay bleeding, naked and helpless, 

The beasts walked away, with every last drop of their lust satisfied, 

Like a group of heartless hyenas after a hunt. 

All the days I die existing,

All the nights I die surviving,

When I close my eyes to sleep,

The traces of my past haunt me.

Men raping and beating me, the only thing I see, 

In dreams, in reality. 

I'm unable to dream,

And maybe when I try to,

I dream of dying peacefully,

Breaking loose from all the chains,

Being free from prison.

I fall asleep every day with a fixed solid dream,

Of not having to wake up the next day,

Only to be sold like a broken doll, unwanted and cheap, 

To a group of lustful men, unknown. 

BISHTI

I hope my little daughter doesn't wake up to see the real face of our reality, 

More disturbing than the face of poverty that we face every day, 

Her growling stomach can be silenced with a few pennies earned, 

But her broken heart and disturbed mind, 

Can never be healed with any amount of money.

I hope my daughter doesn't wake up too soon, 

To see that the person she proudly called 'ma', 

Sleep with countless men, 

To nurture her, to feed her. 

I hope my daughter doesn't wake up too soon, 

To see me, having to compromise my comfort, 

In front of a stranger. 

I hope she doesn't wake up to see what I do, 

To keep her alive. 

When I kiss her goodnight every night, 

She would snuggle under the bed, 

Keeping in my mind what I told her, 

Fairies would grant you anything you want, 

Only when you sleep deeply. 

I hope she doesn't wake up to find, 

The fake lies and real truths. 

When I go through what I'm supposed to, 

Submitting myself to countless men, every night, 

When their lips press hard against mine, 

When their fingers keep lingering around the circumference of my body, 

I feel like a dead body devoid of feelings, 

Except for one, 

That is, a mother's 

Endless affection for her daughter. 

I hope my daughter doesn't wake up to see what I do, 

To feed her, to nurture her.

I hope she doesn't wake up too soon, to hate me,

To lose the innocence in her eyes, 

Purity in her heart, 

Blamelessness in her soul, at a very tender age. 

I hope she doesn't wake up too soon, 

For her little mind to grasp who her mother is. 

I hope she doesn't wake up too soon, 

To realise her ma dreams without having to sleep, 

Only about bettering her, 

To not make her a person her ma is. 

I hope she wakes up, 

Only to find her mother determined to make her follow her dreams, 

I hope she wakes up, to go to school every day, 

So that, 

In the future, she doesn't have to compromise her comfort and happiness, 

Like her ma, 

In front of countless men, who will view her, 

Nothing more than an object of lust. 

I hope she wakes up, like any other child

With a lot of self-respect and self-love,

Without even a trace of doubt or hatred

With an endless amount of love for her 'ma'.