Human Trafficking Poem by Mitta Xinindlu

What freedom are we to find
when our restless minds
are enslaved under the chains
of human trafficking?

What freedom do we preach
when our females breathe
through enraged wounds?
They are used and abused,
left in caves alienated and bruised.

What is this language we speak of
when we talk about the law,
since the human right clause
is ignored and flawed?
Whom is it protecting
because here we are protesting?

Isn't this law ought to save
the bodies of young females?
Isn't this law ought to be brave
and remove females from sex frames?
Instead, it chooses for women and children to die
leaving their loved ones with no good-byes.

Human trafficking, I say,
has made enough money for the day.