She Is Gone
To her takers
She is a product.
To others she is service.
Too vulnerable she barely had a say.
Exchanged for money,-
The world matters not; it is a pea.
Used for money.
A daily bread
Carried and forgotten
To rot without care.
Tossed like a ball
Rolling whichever side, the player chooses.
Do they see not?
The water her river wishes to release?
The sound the drum wishes to produce?
The suffocation, strangle and agony?
Bones cracking through the flesh.
Shoulders fallen like tears,
Her grave dug before death,
Her history written before event.
Hell, hell, hell! the mind shouts
With a broken voice inflicted by soulful cries.
But hope still lies in a piece of heart.
From the pits of hell, she will rise
She hopes!
She hopes!
She hopes!
Copyright © Selma Imene Kapiye | Year Posted 2020
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