She is pink, she is pale,
He is rich, he is hale,
Grooms and bridegrooms –
Are for sale.

Bed, almira, fridge, car,
Forty once, fifty thrice,
He was sold nicely priced.

Years passed, tortured for more,
T’was not love, mere greed.
Soul butchered, there she lay.

Customs, traditions, relatives didn’t save,
A transaction indenture left,
Burning brides, dying parents’ pride.

Trauma, depression, suicide,
Are not where she belongs.
Pride her, don’t price her.

Daughter, sister, wife,
mother she will be,
So why don’t we just let her be

By Blessing Isaiah

Blessing is a Civil engineer by profession and a spatial data enthusiast. She enjoys writing and is a blogger at Bread For Soul. For the past five years she has freelanced content creation for several technical and non technical newsletters. In her free time she likes to engage in gardening. Her heart is at volunteering for meaningful causes.