Friday, March 11, 2016


While I sit and make a mountain out of a molehill
Over friends who haven’t called and checked on me
There are girls who are sold by their dads
To pimps, to be trafficked to Mumbai’s sex districts

Who was there to take care of her anyway?
The women her father slept with hated her
The men her mother slept with have lusted her
Other elders in the society have groped her

It’s just another way of life, a job, an income
Just go, stay, earn and send the money back
Some hungry mouths here have food in their plates
You stay there, do what you do, don’t come back

Who knows, she might find a family there too
A sister who shares the pain of being sold
A mother who has aborted many a times, cold
A friend, to confess, to cry, to talk and to hold

Will I ever grow enough to see a molehill as a molehill?
And enough to see what is and how big a mountain is
Or will I stay listening to all of it as if it is a story
And believe, I live in a universe far away from all that is


1 comment:

Sathyam said...

"While I sit and make a mountain out of a molehill..."
Thanks Sowmya! :)