The Bar Dancer

I'm not a sinner; by bar-dancing I earn my living, Pennies of my labor I gather, to God, thanksgiving; Cloths meager; body a leafless bloom; yet, I have morals, In feeding the stomachs wait for me, lies all my laurels... Poverty, like a dark cloud, often my existence shrouds, I find me standing naked amid hilarious crowds; They tease me; toss me; tear me; undress me with lusty eyes, They mock and knock; I bear them hearing within many cries... Food is what my body needs; and plenty of love and care, As I do not get them full, my love with others I share; My old mother and fatherless children are my treasures, To see them joy brim-filled, I go mad beyond all measures... The male monsters, that fateful day, clawed me like hungry hawks, Ready to tear, lust overflowing, like flummoxing fox; Shouldn't a bar-dancer have rights for her own chastity? Should her deprivation design her life's dull destiny? Immorality turned morals; chaos, laws; sinners, saints, Had I not built my spirit, brick by brick, amid constrains? I struggled, like virgins of old, praying to the supreme, Did the flesh-hungry, care to feel, for my heart's endless dream? Helpless, might be like Maria Goretti, I did find, The steep passage, like a deep wide, large well, lying vacant; A self-stricken thud; and a jump; there did end my story, Suicide - they might laugh - yet to me, it's a victory...! They might probe and would weave many an awful mystery, With my mother and children too quiz many a query; Life for the righteous human beings dawns often the same, If you are ready to compromise; you could change the game...! Yet, what's life? What's wealth? What's cozy luminous luxury? Above the inner truth could one find any theory? One might find my act, foolish and waste, in this times present, Yet, isn't meaning in life, more than assets abundant...? ...21-Year-Old Delhi Bar Dancer Falls To Her Death... 14 December 2021