The Beautiful Prostitute Poem by Md. Ziaul Haque

Nature had gifted her with everything,
Yet fate did wait with something,
She had dreams swimming across her eyes ever,
Since her thoughts got wings to explore.

But the bad character,
In the silhouette of poverty did hover,
Over the family suffocating peace,
Through the window escaped happiness.

She turned not into a devadasi but a harlot,
Selling her flesh, loved,
Killing the soul,
The irony lingers as usual,

The society did and does blame her,
And with hellish intensity abhor,
The vultures and hyenas from the same civilization,
Visit her after the lone sun dips near the horizon.

Doesn't blood run in her veins?
Won't her progenies reach the skies?
Didn't Drona, Ghritachi's son, taste success?
Are her teardrops different when she sheds tears?