The Prostitute

Manika Sharma

The area.
Forbidden by the dignified
But
Survived by the dignified.
The lover,
The daring soul
Was there to take his love back
Back to the respectful place
To his home
To give love
To give life.
She said–
“Don’t tell me to go
I am rotten
I am dirty.
I am impure
I am used.
I am a second-hand soul!”
The women next to her,
Rude
The icon of prostitutes
Yelled,
“You sleep with uncountable
You please many men
How you dare say
You are just
Second-hand?”
The silence
The answerless escape.
Finally the lover
Convinces
Takes her along
To his home
To give love
To give life.
He hugs her tight
Kisses her.
At that moment
He asks
Who made you the first and second hand?
She happily cried
Hugged him tight
And said
“To whom I loved
With my pure heart
The first who took me there
The second who freed me here
It’s you
My second
My last.”

[Manika Sharma is a poet and storywriter from Sikkim, India.]