By Sumaiya Shorif Moon

Harlot’s tears
Which no one hears.
No one sees breezes in her eye’s,
No one hears the sound of her cries.

A child that is born in a brothel
Even before first cry,
The future is fixed ,
Like fate written in silent dale.

When it’s quiet, I hear the scream,
The song of mourn,
“I want to be free.”

A story of necessary things,
A story that unfolds mysterious blink,
A story that wants to be saved,
A dream that is buried but not dead.