(friends, this small contribution is an agony to witness a child-bride being sold to a tribal man thrice her age in various countries, practice is often referred as ” Child-Bride” in tribal systems…ssd)

Lil’ Ma’am, for you dreams were created inside a dropped eyelid,
thousand mirrors behind you:
No, you do not have to be awake to see dawn -
matters swell in the accordian of memory,
between tongue’s dried blood and breath.

Lil’ Ma’am, how much did they pay for your laughter and tears?
of the swollen womb
in the allegory of ardour
to convalesce?

And, did they listen to your voice when you were silent
in your petite silhouette when you walked barefoot on thorns?

Or,

when your innocence at age eleven was compromised by the proof –

splash of red drops -

 left alone… to wash off the stains between the white bed sheet

 and your wounded flesh.

Between the crevices of your heart,
from kiln of flames
you gave birth
kept your anguish in a mother-of-pearl box.

You resurrect,
from conviction –

Lil’Ma’am-Child-Bride.

(shaheen sultan dhanji writes at Blood Ink Diary - www.bloodinkdiary.wordpress.com )