August 4, 2023
Contest : I Know You're Dying To Write A Choka
Sponsored by : Kim Rodrigues
(This is my little poetic effort in protest againt child labor)
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No toys to play with, she draws dolls on the dry soil with soft soiled fingers. The pale face is drenched, not by joyous summer rain. Is it dripping tears? The sad wet eyes graze on mother’s wilted body, age drained before time. Cute girl of sixteen, doesn’t see the hues of sunrise, sleep sags the eyelids. She drags fragile feet, goes out with mother to work, holding her frail hands. Are these only hope? Feels the touch of scant safety, childhood demolished. Days in and days out, she labors with her mother working as a maid. In her mangled mind, ruined by storm of harsh times, she outgrows her age. The dreams of the child have died.
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