Unstained Soul

I saw her  a milky complexion and a voluptuous frame , she had a name but no surname noone gave her a surname . I found her similar less incommon a saree she had draped in an impious commotion to look like what she had to look like . Little choice did she had to hide the wonders of her skin which were not wonders to her , the brightness of her smile nd her cleavage were unholy to them to her , it was mere piece of flesh scotched and held tight without any pocession she was never touched with admiration but only exploitation.  They scorn at her as she is relegated but forget to question her origin before grabbing her ,  forgot which caste did she uphold because for them she was not a piece of art but a Harlot , her beauty was perhaps sold . Her feminsm  staked  for the pleasure of a night nd she cried , she cried not of the pain it gave her but about every remark of unholy and stained sexuality which slapped in her nightmares of open eyes maybe she too complained but her complaints sucked in by mouths of holy men . But wait , last night she too saw a dream of all holy men where she was also one of them no less was she revered wearing a saree washed with dignity this time . Her speech as a monologue of her aspirations and not melancholy of  compulsory sex . Her lips now echoing the eulogy of her power , they stained her skin but couldn't reach her heart . Maybe she wants to be a doctor , an actor  , a choreographer a singer or a poet but no one asked her . Her demeanour no more sluggish say hello to the newborn priggish her prefix is not just a prostitute , her life is much more than bodily servitude . No less than a pandit she is a sensational prelude so the next time you see a prostitute just smile at her not for her stained sexuality but for her soul’s individuality because her soul remains Unstained . By : Ridhi bhutani ( herfingerwings)