Fighter Poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay

A hundred bucks I gave her

She was not selling herself

She asked it for help

His man drunk too much

With life he paid

He has left me a beggar

She lamented

Starting with the cost of his last rites

My days will now be an endless fight

A hundred bucks I gave her

And closed the door

She wasn’t in my thought anymore

Till last night in the dim moon’s glow

I caught two moving shadows

Of her with another man, a stranger.

As her laughter rippled the night

I nodded.

She wouldn’t give up without a fight.