Prostitutions

Her name was kept on the present of god,

But her work for living was outlawed.

Her childhood was just run and play,

But her work place got some nasty ashtray.

Her dance in school always got praised,

But her tap with a pole got the tag of enslaved.

Her body got some nice curves,

But the necessity of selling herself twist her nerves.

Her dark skinned face got a glory to feel,

But the layer of makeup got her one-time meal.

Her charm in salwar suit got no match,

But the time brought her in ragged jeans with patch.

Her body was made to bear all pain,

But the unwanted things brought everything in vain.

Her voice was as sweet as a bird,

But her moaning sound got no word.

Her flexibility makes her look like a swan,

But today it was just to make him turn on.

Her work was not wrong,

But her name got a title for lifelong.

Her day was not going right,

But her work makes it right at night.

Her act was to please our pleasure,

But our aim was to pull those belts of leather.

Her work saves our women from us,

But we still give her curses and cuts.

Her nudity saves girls from getting raped,

But her clothes are drawn every second by getting videotaped.

Her body is sold in the market of emotion,

But we are still ashamed to speak of this unspoken solution.