• Antara Basu


This one’s for all the little ones, whose pigtails danced to the rhythm, of seesaws and swings; Under the watchful eyes of not mothers, but predators. For all the hungry souls; Abandoned and alone but, who called the streets their home. Snatched and sold to shady bargains and sexual transactions. A call for all those behind bars, who were guilty of liberty. For the dare to act, the dare to butcher; the merchants of mortals. Pigtails that now dance to the touch of unknown limbs, And mothers who never stopped; The lament of lost children. Hungry souls that shed tears for food, Now veil whispers of freedom. Freedom from a life that fed them; the way we feed sacrificial lambs before, cooking spicy mutton curries. Those stripped of dignity, stolen of free will; by a system that swims in black and white of a world drowning in grey. For these lost souls, Talk of the many more that went, And the many more to come. Lost, weak and preyed By not those who sell, But those who consume.