The World Of The Forsaken

By Christina Mariam Das

Away in a world wasted,

In innocence ruined,

by love betrayed,

she pretends to exist

in dim lit streets of sin.

Life had brought her a world of rot.

Once like an angel hopeful and bright,

now a soul wandering in gloom,

in filthy rooms of pain,

lit red from the wrath of those within.

Hardened by realities,

she exists, a human heap,

devoid of emotions.

What she might have done to endure this,

A million guesses wouldn’t suffice.

She devoured by immorality,

Used by the devils,

Who gave her a name,

the name of shame.

Chained by the unbreakable,

Endures she like Prometheus.

Seen through an eye of disgust,

Oh! I pray for realization to dawn

on the minds of the ones who judge,

to turn back the pages and see her plight,

coz in crumbles she lay,

in hutments of hay,

unless she the elder laid herself as prey

for that very paper that rules over all.

We see their hurt,

tending to sense them as a societal regret,

those eyes that well up,

the tear struck face,

and the legs that fail,

under painted cheeks and darkened lips,

she, a mother, a sister,

an art of the creator,

she a woman wishes to live.

Under glit and glam,

A heart that beats;

for love not denial.

Decked up, done hair,

hides she under a burqa,

to avoid the looks of disgust.

Walks she slowly unto the forbidden,

though a late hour of night,

she treads without a fright,

into a den ready to pounce.

Her destiny written years ago,

like those like her,

confined within walls of shame,

a tear rolls unseen.

Through an ugly window,

she sees a city so vast

but all she does is walk

unto the world of the forsaken.

By Christina Mariam Das