Pray or Prey?

I get yelled at as I blissfully chant his name…

As my Madame worshipped only money, guess we weren’t the same…

She pays me my share; it felt heavy on my palms…

Luckily our cubicle today was free of alarms…

Alarms of modesty watching a woman’s dignity fall…

Whether you held stacks or pennies, our doors were open for all…

This cubicle of women, robbed of their identity and their say…

But perhaps the only place where women ever got a higher pay…

As I look in the mirror, I face a terrible defeat…

As the weight of my pay, made my tears compete…

A drop consoling my tired pupils with an illusion of my dream…

A longing for respect, muffled in a silent scream…

My profession just robbed me of my rights to even pray?

A profession that makes me work night and day…

Because the society gave me no choice but to stay….

So just let me PRAY instead of being the PREY…

My eyes pleading in the mirror, I call for my lord…

For a silent prayer was all I could afford…

For humans have put a price of impurity on my body and time…

I have nothing to offer you, not even my soul, my divine…

But all I can do is ask you to look at me and try…

As my debt of being a woman often makes me cry…

Heavy and helpless, I surrender and lie destitute…

Tell me Krishna, will you hear the prayers of a prostitute?

Tell me Krishna, look at me, what do you see?

Is there a place in your abode for me?

Tell me Krishna, what do you see?

Meera’s faith or Draupadi’s plea?