Stood staring at you from a distance
how pale you looked under the moon
even your shadow had more presence
like a flower unable to grow nor bloom.
How fragile you seemed
like a glass vase in the hands of a child.
How silently you screamed
Like a dying animal alone in the wild.
Somewhere in the vast sea of my memories
Fresh faced and foreign to such sufferings
You sat beside me smiling with dancing eyes
you had the look that good fortune brings.
Stood watching you stare into strangers cars
waiting for one to stop and beckon you inside
final pleasures pursued after days in seedy bars
I know another part of you will have died.
skin will be black and blue, insides red raw
both you and them will always be back for more.
As you and the car slipped away into the night
There was no shoe left behind after midnight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A frank and saddening but gentle picture of this sordid life. That said, I'm actually in favour of legal 'pleasure houses'. Security guards could then be deployed, and it might help end the practice of 'prostitute-trafficking'. Warm regards, Gina.