red was his color
he liked them young
visited the red light area
cheap liquor made him numb
husband, office clerk, by day
and a doting father too
pretty daughter just fifteen
into a beauty she grew
of course they were very poor
lived under a thin tin roof
there never was enough for them
he grew distant and aloof
looked forward to his visit to the brothel
for there his fantasies came true
renewed, he felt worthwhile again
his confidence then grew
early one evening, an ordinary day
the sky fell upon his head
debts piled up in front of him
moneylender wanted him dead
where should he go? what should he do?
no one to help him out
so he went to find his solace
in the red light area, down south
he needed to be feel alive again
a young, fresh girl should do
just the right treatment
for this illness worse than the flu
he walked into the tiny room
jasmine fragrance in the air
sold his watch and chain too
to get the best they had out there
she sat upon the four poster bed
beautiful, fresh and new
calm and quiet, as if drugged
his dear daughter, Ghunghroo
Ironic and sad; the prostitute is always someone's daughter, sister, mother, and it takes two to finalize the transaction if it is a square deal, although some of it amounts to total exploitation of innocence ended. Thought provoking write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Manjula. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.