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In a world often blinded by its own chaos, there exists a realm where the lost and forgotten struggle to survive, clinging to the edges of hope.

The poem, “A Lost Life,” is a poignant exploration of the lives of women who have been cast aside, their youth stolen, and their dignity eroded by a harsh reality.

Through the eyes of a compassionate narrator, we witness the journey of a so called fallen woman from despair to a glimmer of redemption, highlighting the resilience of the human spirit.

This piece serves as a stark reminder of the societal neglect faced by many and the transformative power of empathy and kindness. As you read, may you be moved to see beyond the surface and reach out to those in need, offering not just charity but a chance at a renewed life.

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I’m here by intent, not lost,
Nor seeking solace in some so called fallen woman’s arms
But hoping to rescue souls that are spent,
Robbed of their childhood, their youth ripped into shreds.

No client will have them now that they are jaded,
Their beauty has faded, hence evicted from what was a roof upon their heads,
Akin to tenants who can no longer pay the rent.
While we retire once it’s dark, it’s the night that they dread.

Clients begin to pour in, it’s a long night for the girls,
It can be mundane but violence is not unknown.
The aging process never ceases and once the body begins to show the signs,
A bigger hell is waiting for these wretched women, none can deny.

Thrown out of the hellhole they have known as home for long is lost forever,
They are left to fate on the streets to live the life of a beggar.
I spot a haggard squatted on the road,
Dressed in rags, shriveled to the bone, covered with slime,
Bony, wrinkled hands extended, begging for a dime.

I bend down and open my satchel, take out some food,
She grabs at the bread, the bananas and begins to brood.
Tears long suppressed flow down like a river,
A look of utter despair lurks deep in her sunken eyes.

I sit down beside her and wait as she consumes what’s been offered,
She hasn’t had a decent meal in days, maybe weeks.
I offer her a bottle of water and once it has been gulped down,
I ask her if she would like to go and live in this home
Where the beds are clean, food piping hot and friends to chat with,
Young children to play with and a whole lot more.

She gasps in disbelief, is this yet another game?
She was barely a teen when the first was played.
How she wishes she had looked through the game,
Now here is another, is history repeating itself in a sinister, macabre way?

I reassure her and tell her about this cozy place,
It’s not like Hotel California, she can enter yet leave.
Off we go for a look at this home, the laughter of rescued girls,
Women, young and old, seem to abound.

We are welcomed as we walk in,
A lady rescued a few years back drags her in for a bath.
Bathed and dressed in a new saree, she is a changed woman, all can see.
I know for good that yet another soul shall survive.

Given time, the wounds shall heal,
Yes! The memories can never, ever be wiped away
But oh! Yes! She too shall thrive.

Something reminds me that we are a resilient species,
I bend down and pray for added strength.
Yet another forsaken soul has found her home.

How I wish that those that visit these hell holes mended their ways,
They are not merely walking into brothels but treading on a highway to hell.
How I wish they could hear these warning bells.
May the Lord save our souls!

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