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
When they are used and abused.
When they cry in bottomless caves.
What is this language we speak
when we talk about the law?
The constitution, the law, we seek.
But what is this law?
Whom is it protecting;
because here we are protesting?
Isn't this law ought to harbour
the safety of young females?
Isn't this law ought to labour
and remove females from sex frames.
Instead, the law misacts and impales,
leaving females to lay and die;
die alone with no good-byes.
Tonight, ladies and gentlemen,
there are women and children
who are being trafficked across
the borders of their dwellings.
Tonight, there are females
who are being forced into solicitation.
In dorm, hotels, motels and stations.
Tonight, here I am as a hack -
to mourn like a dog in a sinking hod.
I urge you to take me back
to the world that protected the female
I beg you to take me back
to the world that was afraid of God.
We know these human traffickers.
And we ask the law to protect us;
But, the law glances and asks,
'what's the fuss? '
Our hearts are throbbing;
human trafficking is throning.
It is indeed violent;
it is indeed not valiant.
Are we dethroning it?
Are we exposing it?
Human trafficking, I say,
has made enough money for the day.
has caused enough pain,
has fed enough chains.
has scarred enough souls,
has put enough girls on poles.
And from tonight onwards
human trafficking should be no-more.
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