Untitled

This poem is based on the right of a child to be protected from
abuse and sexual exploitation.
I have not titled this poem because I want the readers to feel that
just as a poem is incomplete without its title, childhood is incomplete
without protection from the law.

Dark brown eyes that are red because of crying,
All hopes of escape and freedom are dying;
Clothes have been torn; hair is a tangled mess,
The face has lost all its childishness;
Hands and feet show marks of the whip,
Blood flows down from the cracked, parched lips;
Since the past three days no food has been eaten,
The faith in God stands totally beaten.

Only seventy-two hours have passed since the time
There was laughter in life and the bright sunshine -
There were mother, father and a lovely baby brother,
So what if they lived in a hut near the gutter?
There was dearth of money and they couldn't eat well
But life was peaceful, and who had thought of such hell?
Loving neighbours, all sweepers by profession,
Who cared, but were financially in depression.
City life was expensive and father wanted the best for his son,
So he came up with an idea that would give him returns;
The very next day he came wearing a new coat,
In his hands he held hundred rupees' ten crisp notes;
Life changed its course from that very moment
But there was no thunder, no lightning in the firmament!

The door creaked open and light illuminated the room
That hulk of a man, that lubber, spelt doom...
The message was to ask her if she was ready to come,
A customer was waiting - his fear made her numb;
But she was too tired to resent any longer,
Moreover, the louts were much, much stronger,
They washed her clean and gave her a dress
How she looked - is anybody's guess.
She was led to a room where she would spend the rest of her life,
A girl of twelve followed by a lecherous man of thirty five...