5 Thousand Rand

Am I the consequence of poverty or perhaps a prank gone too far?
A plaything to appease a sick mind;
5 thousand rand for a mother's blossoming burden,
where drugs speak louder than love.

I am locked away
banished to hell.
Branded and burn't then led to a fold in the hills,
like roaches in a darkened hole,
Alone

Days
months
maybe years?
acid to my face has sealed my fate.
That's how they do it - how they hold us here

I no longer fight, and my attempts at flight
become a whimsical notion
Oh how I miss the golden shores of the Cape;
the lonely windy hills of Macassar.

What language is that I hear -
Where am I,
Uganda, Bangladesh, Pakistan?
I live in a cage,
I breathe air and see the sky
only at night.
I am lost
Gone
sold

I am the dead breathing

forgotten

Unidentified - untraceable

Perhaps hope will someday deliver me from this hell
of a denatured face displayed behind a glass cage.
A high priced collectors item.
Laugh you foolhardy pharisees.
You brood of vipers who amuse yourselves with my plight -
you who cackle as I fight for just a moments respite;
a moment to breathe with ease.
My pores implore you leave me to confront the demon that has trampled me like a creepy roach;

MOTHEEER!!!

My value rises, just as you wanted.
I hope you are happy now with your drugs in the dunes.
I am the circus clown -The face every man wants.
Monster! Oh perverted one, you twisted rich mogul you!
the damned who sit upon my face
and violates the remnants of who I once was.
My sticky, slimy seedy slave-master.
Your taste of sweat and old sex will partner me to my grave.
The smell of a rich man's cigar is the apparition that haunts my every dying moment.

STOP your roving callous paws!
Laugh you coward;
face my face - dont you dare turn from what you have done
Look deeply into my beautiful innocence;
Into the youthful eyes that shrivel beneath your exploring manhood.
My life is lost.
I own it not.

I am the dying -
this heart that pumps is not in me
I am gone
Dead.
I am a pulse,
repulsive.

Mother!
what have you done!
do you sleep well beside your drugs in the dunes;

I hope you are warm and happy beside the peddler who sells little girls for you.

I beg you save me - yet - perhaps not, leave me be - for I must still wear this face that has sealed my fate.

I am lost

untraceable.

Yet perhaps.........

can you hear me?

(C) Jambiya kai

Note from the Author

"Burning Trails is a work of fiction. Reference to any factual place is merely to bring home the reality of toxic trafficking trade and it's link to the crime of acid burns and the despair of lifelong disfigurement.

***Sex trafficking of women and girls is amongst the most prevalent and profitable types of human trafficking. Evidence suggests that sex trafficking is especially high in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh where diverse types of burning are also prevalent especially among young females. 

***Ref: science direct - volume 43 (Burns in trafficking)
With angst and anticipated sorrow we watch acid attacks stroll within the borders of South Africa".