Little Lajwanti Lost (Brothels of India)
Plucked from family tree
nowhere near ripe
Sold to brothel
Dignity denied
She aches, lacerated
Beaten if she says “no”
Infected if she says “yes”
Enslaved since she was five
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
I saw a PBS special last night that changed my life. Although the perpetrators of violence against women in this film are mostly dark-skinned, it’s not a racist film – those who know me understand I’m open and outspoken about my own childhood sexual abuse, and we have plenty of work to do around the unearned shame of victims and survivors Stateside. This is about girls in Asia and Africa who lack support of any kind, who through no fault of their own are disowned by families after being raped, who are sold by families or total strangers into prostitution… and the brave women and men who risk all to come to their defense.
“Lajwanti” is a Hindi name that means “a sensitive plant.” I chose the name for the specific irony of the fate of mostly lower-caste girls. The sex slave trade in India is protected by local police bribery and fought by a lion-hearted woman named Somaly, who as a young girl was sold into slavery and now runs a refuge for the girls they are able to spring from the brothels. She says, “They are me.”
The PBS special about the film, Half The Sky, is not to be viewed with popcorn and brewskis. It is a brutally frank account of violence against women, from culturally sanctioned rape to girls as young as five sold into prostitution worldwide. From the brothels of India to the rape of girls as young as two years old in Sierra Leone (where to “devirginize” a girl is a matter of pride for the man), this film also shows some real-life heroines who deserve our support. Please click the link above to learn more.
There are stars, beginning with George Clooney’s commentary, along with several female stars traveling to witness and comfort the rescued girls. A tremendous scene: A former prostitute who was rescued, now aged 15, confronting a roomful of men and quizzing them on why condoms are useful. She even shows them how to open the packet without damaging the contents and looks them straight in the eye. Like I said, lion-hearted women.
If you want to help this vital movement on behalf of half the world’s population, visit THIS LINK.
As a “little white suburban girl” who was used for sex by her own father, I can tell you this: Look behind the siding of houses in your own neighborhood. Men who use girls (and boys) without conscience are everywhere, often trusted family friends or family members, scout leaders, upstanding clergy, teachers…
I am eternally grateful for this prompt, from Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where Mama Zen asked for a poetic drama in 30 words or less, and Roger at ABC Wednesday (L). Also at my safe haven, Poets United.
Peace, Amy
Thanks to all who sent notes of support during my recent “computer Blue Screen Of Death” crisis. Took a day or so to read the work of others before starting to post again.
To followers of this blog, THANK YOU for your patience. If Sadie doesn’t Blue Screen again, I’ll be happy and she won’t be carted back to the shop sniffling. (OK, I was the one sniffling…)
Sunday Scribblings asked for poems about creativity. Seems like a good starting point for getting my groove back, also to post at dverse Open Mic Night, as well as the site that never BSODs me, Poets United (become a member, y’all!) and the whimsical Imaginary Garden with Read Toads for Open Link Monday. The seed for this poem was in a note to my dear friend Sidnie, with whom I share certain parts of the bozosphere.
Creative Juices
In the game of Poetry*
there are no winners, nor losers
Our creative juices flow
sometimes in rhythm and rhyme
or perhaps in chaotic streams of
consciousness
One man’s Keats
is another women’s drivel
So please accept
these dribblings
from the
howling bloodhound slobberjaws
of my
creatively juicy life
(or not)
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
*Shout-out to Buddah Moskowitz, who disdains “Capital P” poetry!! You’re my bruddah from anudda mudda! Ameleh
These poems are dedicated to the women of Afghanistan, and I thank Kenia at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads for introducing us to the landai, the form of which is explained below in notes, along with other information. This is also on the sidebar at Poets United and at ABC Wednesday, where we are on the letter “J.” This is my favorite J word. Peace, Amy
JUSTICE for women in oppressive regimes
How can ‘women’s spirits hold up half the sky’*
when their earthbound selves swelter under the burqa
Women nurture their baby boys at swollen breasts
only to watch them grow up and oppress their mothers
I am ten paces behind my husband, I make out his shape through net
I am ten generations behind my husband – this burqa, my ceiling
She wanted only to read, write, work figures, create
Acid was tossed in my little girl’s face for this grave sin
Mullah in the madrassa, my brother’s fate in his hands
Mother in the market, her fate already decided
How can I find peace with Americans on my street
when uniforms and guns serve as their faces?
The Prophet (PBUH)** elevated women to rights and inheritance
Ayatollahs strip us of those rights and instead force upon us burqas
On a day I will never live to see, my daughter will shed her burqa,
renounce the veil, leave this town, go to university, be free
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
* Kenia encouraged cooperation and playing off one another’s landai. This line, an old Chinese proverb, was used in a landai by Sherry Blue Sky – view her collection HERE.
** “Peace Be Upon Him,” traditionally said after invoking the name of either “The Prophet” or “The Prophet Mohammed.”
NOTES: According to Kenia at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads:
“The word landai means “short, poisonous snake” in Pashto. The poems are (two lines and) collective — no single person writes a landai; a woman repeats one, shares one. It is hers and not hers. Although men do recite them, almost all are cast in the voices of women.”
I had only to think of a movie I saw yesterday, Kandahar (2001). A woman who had escaped Afghanistan years before seeks to return, as her sister has written she plans to take her own life. Based on the story of Nelofer Pazira, who stars in the movie, I was struck by how the burqas had festive colors, since the burqa itself stands as a disgrace upon the leaders of conservative nations. It is a socioeconomic stance, country by country, as to what women are allowed to wear, whether they may attend school… whether they can stay alive when they fall down and accidentally show an ankle. Another movie about the lives of women in brutal regimes, also based on a true story – tough to watch but important to witness: The Stoning of Soraya M.
Incantations in Jazz
Back in The Day
jam sessions were serious affairs
Jazz hinged on trust, ears, collaboration, and rotgut
Cat would stay
Play for no pay
‘Til break of day
Strayhorn charts in clouds of smoke or
off-the-top-of -your head bebop
Slammin duels or cozy duets
Soubrettes mimicked Ella, got laid
Torchettes dug deeper, got respect
Getz and Jobim brought bossa to the scene
Miles straight up in any incantation
Trane proclaiming A Love Supreme
but his lover was the needle, the ride
Recording sessions went straight to vinyl
Benny, Lionel, Slam – his high-pitched, mellow voice
doubling his bass lines, so fine, class, no sass
Basie showed Sinatra how to swing
(before the “ring-a-ding-ding”)
All live, driving, vibrant, vital
Women with ample curves strung like pearls
Billie moaning, Ella owning the scat, Bessie howling
Flat-out fine, no whine about the need for pay
Getting laid, getting high, getting by
by the grace of jazz, flowing like honey or
slappin you upside the head like a pissed-off date
He’d make love to her later
after the session cooled off, horns packed up.
Then everyone got down to real business
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For ABC Wednesday, brought to you by the letter “I”; Three Word Wednesday (Need, Hinge, Lethal); the open call at Real Toads, AND Trifecta’s word, “Ample.” Also at the place where I’m always jammin, Poets United.
This is the soil from which I spring. Call it a dangerous environment for a young girl, but I was right at home with the old cats, the ones who gave Art Tatum driving lessons (he was blind)… the ones who ruined their voices on bathtub gin and took up the drums to keep bread on the table. Imagine my luck, a little white girl who could sing blues, accepted by musicians of all colors and lifestyles! Peace, Amy
SPACE CADET (for my fellow bloggrrrls)
Can’t forget
Space Cadet
who flew through the halls
of our school.
Weird freak cool
radical with balls.
Never was
one to buzz;
never came to dance.
Hall pass? No…
Hell, she’d snow
teachers in a trance
Knew her well?
Who could tell?
She skipped town too soon
to New York
to uncork.
Then, who knows? Rangoon?
Blogging now,
caught hers, wow.
Some shit flies so fast.
Sticks to those
who once chose
to call her “outcast.”
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads… “Rebel Girl,” and for Trifecta’s “Radical.” This is dedicated with love and respect to all my bloggrrrls… who embrace life with passion, courage, truth, and the kind of joie de vive not afforded those with limited imaginations or poor opportunities. Some choose their Inner Emily, but many are tuned into that take-no-prisoners style.
NOTE: This is a cantilever, a rare moment when I embraced a form for the post. Ironic, since my poems of rebellion are almost always free verse! Peace, Amy
Bad Boyfriends
She has a chain
Each link is a loser
A long line of operators
Each with a rose
a bottle of perfume
or a bottle of tequila in hand
Whatever recipe would pique her interest
Showing up at dusk and
never leaving the apartment til dawn
Leaving her behind
in an bed littered with condom wrappers
and empty bottles
and a stinky bong
She decided to build a hedge fence
to protect herself against
this parade of clowns
But in the end, she clawed her way out
Forgiving, yet forgetting the essential lesson:
Trace first the path to your own happiness
and if you find another who walks the same path
there you will find love
She has a chain
Each link is a loser
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For The Sunday Whirl: Link, Recipe, Operator, Fence, Essentials, Chain, Rose, Forgiven, Dusk, Pencil, Empty, Trace.
Also at two favorite sites: Poets United and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.
FIVE HUNDRED POSTS!
Well, I have to thank everyone who has expressed concern about my health (both physical and emotional) recently. You have buoyed my spirits greatly. I may never be free of mental disorders, but… “I get by with a little help from my friends.” Truly blessed to know such talented, giving spirits. Thank you all. And now, two poems for two different sites. Love and peace, Amy
SERENITY
We can differ without having to defer.
We can hold out and still not halt.
We can accept and still imagine.
We are human. We can adjust.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Three Word Wednesday (Differ, Halt, Imagine), and at Poets United.
___________________________________
Leaders… and bleeders
For all the teachings
of Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed;
For all the wisdom
of Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and Rachel Carson;
One would expect a more peaceful world.
For all the writings
of Rumi, Buddha, Howard Zinn;
For all the actions
of Mother Teresa, Mother Jones, and Susan B. Anthony;
One would expect a world filled with justice.
Yet for every peaceful action,
there is a virulent, violent reaction.
For every step forward,
there is the rumble of a clattering machine,
rolling over the footprints of those
who act on behalf of good in this world.
For every machine,
there is a master.
For every master,
there is a burning need to bleed the life from others.
And for that burning need, that hubris,
the rest of us are sacrificed
on the altar of Capitalism and The Global Market.
One would expect better from humankind.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads; also at Poets United.
Face Down in it When I Die
It’s my last wish
that I shall leave this world
drowning in chocolate cake
The dense layers slashed by
thick, sweet frosting and
dusted with Mexican cocoa
But for now, seeing as
I’m pretty much alive
and kicking, I’ll settle
for a plate, a fork, and
a cup of espresso,
swirling mocha on my tongue
The nearest thing to good sex
is rich, sensual, forbidden…
and sitting in front of me
Excuse me while I
indulge in the bliss of
this final piece of pleasure
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Image from Dessert Devil
For the delightfully named Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, courtesy of Ella, whose blog appears HERE. She challenged us to write about food porn. Also hanging about in the kitchens of Poets United. Peace, and whatever food porn floats YOUR boat, Amy
Sharp Little Pencil 