The prostitute

Dreaming of  rainbows I left home  

happy to be rid 

of the leaking roof and  

perpetually hungry five younger siblings.

Relieved to be no more haunted by 

the ghost of a widowed mother 

whose eyes were the waste land 

where no hope grew. 

Safe from that lingering dirty gaze 

of the maternal uncle whose hands 

often brushed my breast accidentally. 

I eloped with the man I loved. 

The one whose plagiarized couplets 

swept me off my adoloscent feet. 

The one whose rakish eyes 

teased a certain string in my heart.  

The one whose feverish hands 

sought the secret treasures in me. 

We traveled many towns 

and stayed at many cheap inns. 

And one night as I lay dreaming 

sold me to a hirsute pot-bellied man.

Twelve years have passed since then 

I am a mother now 

of a child whose father's identity

I know nothing about.

I have been abused, insulted, slapped, 

suffered diseases, bitten in to and raped. 

All wounds heal eventually 

but for that of the betrayal 

by the one who had once made you dream. 

-Neha Bansal