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She posed – no less than nine
Her countenance saying it all
Would you – it asked
Buy my flesh for a silver coin?
She names her price
And calls out – calls out ……
So clear and strong
Her voice rings out
Would you – it asked
Buy my flesh for a silver coin?
This not she
The child of nine
But the woman
The child you see
Is dead
            Is dead
                        Is dead
She died the day
Her flesh was sold for a silver coin
And now she stands
Pitied, mocked and forgotten
On the streets with the red lights
In a dark alley
She sells her flesh by night
In exchange for a silver coin
That buys her bread
Each night
        She lives and dies
                      And lives and dies
Then at dawn
When the world awakens
She sleeps
The child
No God to look upon her
Except the silver coin
That glitters in the sun.

Sashikala Premawardhane

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