By Sumagna Banerjee
I asked the tired, penniless whore
What fed her hunger?
The money against her profession
Or the esteem that she buries daily?
She gazed at me and then at her
Sleeping baby who was far from the cares of
The world…
She then told me a tale.
The true lie she once lived…
My father's guise was I
A rich merchant
with an unfathomable land
Of diamonds and love.
People loved him for his
Wealth and prosperity.
His crown fell when scarcity
Descended upon his land.
Pests attacked his glory
And I was his famous alacrity.
So they sold me against
The demise of my esteem
At a large profit and deem
To climb the yonder hills,
Swim across oceans,
Cross the parched and the arids.
And here am I - selling myself
To feed my child.
Alms sculpt our shaggy shack
Meager is our luxury
A little is our adequate
And to earn our suffice
I sell my once sown majesty
In scant largesse.
So now you know
What you know.