A price-tag on her.

Regret, remorse, turmoil, failures,heartbreaks and aches,

A part of my life where I’d say I have seen it all,

But she & her story taught me what no one could. 

An innocent little child,

Lost her innocence when she was not even 9,

The cruelty she faced, the lessons she learned,

Instead of books, she read her mother’s face,

A face which narrated pain and stories of sorrow,

Instead of toys, she played with her life,

She was sold in the market when she turned 15,

It was her birthday present,

Yes her dad loved her in a way, unusual they say.

Some used her to their advantage and others felt sad for her existence,

She tried to kill her and rub her past;

She thought eraser would help in rubbing off those marks,

Naïve, a girl or a forced woman,

This world killed her soul,

A innocent little kid forget what she came here for,

She now herself is a toy, sold in the markets for the old,

A price tag, she does hold.

The manufacturing of which was done by her own father,

And expiry, well that’s a question I left to god.