THE GIRL CHILD.

By Naomi .E. Arunye.

The lives of innocent children,

Have been shattered,
Come look my brethren,
Mighty dreams have been thwarted.
My sister is a commodity of trade,
Only reaching the third grade,
She found herself under a shade.
She became a property of exchange,
Having on say over anything,
I have been longing for a revenge,
Heavy penalty but got nothing,
Feel the life of my innocent sister.

This is a public outcry,

I insist on stiff measures,
Both in the oceans and the dry,
It is a grievance from all creatures,
The inhuman act of rape,
A humiliating offence,
To my sister who lacks defense,
Feel the shame of my innocent sister.

I remember that night,

When she nearly faced death,
I got involved in the fight,
Making my way to the heath,
I found her wriggling in pain,
Offered to help but in vain,
Blood oozed like a leaking pot,
Heart cried not to lose on spot,
The torture that my sister got,
Is more than that of a poor man’s colt,
Feel the pain of my innocent sister.

My sister is depressed,
No second for a deep rest,
In marriage she is oppressed,
Her property lives in her chest,
Financially she is pressed,
Her master calls her pest,
My beast of burden is hard pressed,
No matter how she tries her best,
Her efforts are all compressed,
Feel the injustices done to my innocent sister.

Under detention, she is the queen in her nest,

Restricted from searching her light to the west,
Look! she is denied of her life’s zest,
Punished for attending a talk-fest,
Why her alone and not the rest?
A woman has the right to rest,
If allowed she can invest,
If enabled she will pass all the test,
This is a true word not spoken in jest,
Instilled in me to reach the rest,
To feel the discomfort of my innocent sister.

Before my heart was burning hot,

But now am grateful a lot,
Finally I have reached my lot,
I wish to halt on this spot,
Let us join hands in tot,
Make a change as small as a dot,
To relieve her from the pot,
And free her from the knot,
There is ability in my innocent sister.