My body and soul has repeatedly been used, abused,
and thrown away as trash.
On that far corner, She cries softly over my ruined body,
not knowing that, I also bleed in pain.
He looks at me as a shame and curses the fate,
not knowing that I am also drowned in eccentricity and humiliation.
Sinners appreciate me,
People spit on me and whisper evil from one ear to another
“Oh she is that bad woman”
“Oh that woman with no dignity”
not knowing that their own daughters did the same.
So why do you call me a Woman?
Why do you call me your mother, daughter or sister?
When you cannot treat me like one.
When you cannot give me the love and respect I yearn.
When I will always be nothing: but an article of trade!
Shamin Bashir Shah
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woman-an-article-of-trade/
