They crowd around her, as if she is the last straw
reads aloud what she wrote, together and feel
the pain as their own, her words breath fire
the picture of exploitation naked, painted  is real
what exactly they wanted to holler to the world is this:
"Lend your ears,for once,  hear all about our plight"
but in empty darkness it echoed, none heard.

"Stop reading my poetry" she'd curtly tell them
" It's no good" she lost all faith, where is justice
in the world we live, the underdogs fall by wayside
may it be women, children, aged.Who cares!"

Look at those girls, taut, depressed and mute
crying may do good, even that they are not capable,
they work round the clock as cheaply paid sales girls,
in textile or jewelers' shops rich frequent to buy
expensive stuff of every kind to show off
"We are on our feet all day long, put on
the nice uniforms employers insist to wear
we are mannequins alive,flexible more than plastic,
of flesh and bones, but even we forget
our feelings are to be tightly wrapped,with smiles"

"I want to cry all night long, when i think
of my life, back home, all my tear drops had dried,
only what you write has the power to make me cry,
your poetry is the pill for me to cry, how I enjoy it!"

"it's very private, my devotion to the lullabies for the dead,
each speak the words of the dead, some are uttered
by the not yet dead, going numb in their feelings
whenever i feel like crying i write them, when I do
my blood boils, I become blue with rage and helplessness.
i doodle in words, why read my words crinkly
you wouldn't understand a thing, it's complex
it doesn't mean what you think perhaps, the drops
of blood splattered there has violent stories to tell
i don't want any one read the secrets of my psyche concealed

But then i am a companion of you in this bleak, desolate world,
so i'd forgive you making me feel naked, we all are here..
so, let's huddle together and sing  about the passions still left"