Sunday, 12 February 2012


This is the tale of a young girl,
Whose name, I was told, was White Pearl, 
The young one’s life story begins
At a time when her father gave into sins.
He deserted his family,
Listening to no homily.

And the mother, the Queen Bee of the Hive,
Was left to manage her brood of five,
A leaky house and an aged mother,
She had no help, not one or another.

And then came an idea,
To sell her daughter to Cambodia.
So the mother called this institute
That reared many a prostitute,
And made an ugly deal,
Just for a future day’s meal.

The girl was sent away,
And she had no say.
The girl was forced into a brothel,
A sure-shot living hell.

She refused to serve anyone,
And was deprived of food- even if just one bun!
But she refused to budge,
So big was her grudge.
The owner of the brothel, the madam,
Called the girl’s mother, the Diadem.

Your daughter does not cooperate,
She refuses to move past her hate.
The mother ordered the girl,
Obey her well, Bright White Pearl.

But the girl did believe,
That her mother would not deceive.
She felt a lot of fright,
To tell her mother what was right.
So she said not a thing,
About the coercing,
She said not a thing,
About the prostituting.

She just cried and cried,
Her eyes never dried.
I don’t want that kind of work,
They harm me and they smirk.
Be good, said the mother,
Or they’ll tie you with a tether.

I promised you a phone by Easter,
If you work, it will come faster.
The girl believed her mother ignorant,
To the decency in this trade being truant.

So she began the task,
And donned a mask.
A steely armour,
She did not clamour.

But help came soon,
It was a boon.
The police rained down,
And told the town,
Of the sordid tales of the filthy trade,
Of the money the unscrupulous madam made,
Of the thousands of little girls she harmed,
Of the filthy unscrupulous men she charmed.

Even then, the little girl did not believe,
That her mother did deceive
Her by knowing all along,
That she sold her girl for a wrong.
But the police caught her too,
And the girl’s faith was through.

Then the girl was then sent to a home,
Where there were loving people, a family, a garden with a gnome.

No comments:

Post a Comment