Warning: This poem is emotionally disturbing. This has been written to assist my body of work. The concept primarily depicted in this poem is child sex tourism, though it goes further into other realms of disturbing events.
I.
The nights fall tumultuously
Upon the village of Nongki...
Not a star to be sighted among the onyx skies
To shine upon the innocent,
To emit a gleaming ray of light upon their troubles...
Not a molecule of hope drifts among the air
For the children to breathe in,
When overshadowed by a black cloud of perils....
They have been forgotten as children. Entirely.
Instead...
Sexualised as prostitutes,
Degraded to miniature cult objects.
Little girls appointed to a pathway of vulgarity,
Before they've even had the chance to grasp
The perplexities of the world...
(Is it ethnocentric to regard this as obscenity?
Or has morality been forsaken?)
---
II.
My heart stiffens with despair,
As I loiter amidst the scenes of night life...
And there she stands,
Little Jenjira, alone
A pariah amongst a crowd
A being of purity, a child, a prisoner
Enslaved by the hostile forces of an adult world
A world in which she does not belong...
There she stands,
Little Jenjira, alone
Lost amid the haze of shadows
Fleeting across the brothel
Deafened by the sinister laughter
Of stray men ready to pursue the young...
There she stands,
Little Jenjira, alone
With cocaine and alcohol
Simmering in her blood stream
Her senses numbed
Her fragile body staggering from vertigo...
Yes. There she stands, little Jenjira, alone. Helplessly.
---
III.
Hunger has gorged the flesh from her bones...
Every limb on her withered frame
Purpled by bruises...
Agony has opaqued the dreams she once dreamt
Of those pretty little things
Only rich girls possess...
The life she deserves, she may never get....
As she bends down before a stranger
Like a servant before their kings,
Reluctantly offering her services,
For what little payment she may receive ...
(Her innocent eyes, her pretty little feet
Luring his metallic soul, like a sexual magnet
Dangerously awakening the perversive desires
That flew him over the tides of the Pacific ocean)
He flashes his cash with a tenor of contempt
As she nervously removes her tattered dress
Intimidated, she feels, by his twisted smirk
Yet she silently awaits his further commands...
He positions his camera before her bare body...
"Lights, camera, action" he mockingly mutters
As he videotapes her fulfilling her 'duty',
Her pain-stained eyes begin to moisten...
But she slavishly obeys this stranger's orders
Suffering every moment, yet bearing the ache
Hoping away in her desperate little heart
That her efforts, he will generously compensate...
(Perhaps even enough to fill her stomach for a week
A whole week of no hunger, how she solemnly dreams...)
But no, his intentions cannot be presaged
As he loses his way into a drunken delirium
For he wants more, much more than her body can take
But the notion of 'no', he just cannot fathom
("No, sorry I cannot", she politely refuses
With the red in his sclera slowly diffusing...)
"You're a f***ing whore!" He yells "No does not belong in your vocabulary!"
With his intoxicated blood blistering his veins with vexation and fury...
So he spits on her face,
Grabs her by the legs,
Burns cigarettes upon her flesh,
Breaks a beer bottle upon her skull...
And forces his way upon her,
Til the very end,
The only end.
(So much for the generous compensation...)
---
IV.
There she lies,
Little Jenjira, alone
Drenched in her own sinuous blood.
The halo she once dreamed of, floating above the earth,
Burnt into vicious flames
By the fuels of reality...
No plethora of rainwater can cleanse her tragedy.
No gust of wind can blow away the sullen memories.
Even Nature is powerless...
Unrestrained, but powerless
To change the events of this tainted night....
As she cries with might,
Little Jenjira, alone
With every drop of tear
Bejewelling her cheeks
Til the force of gravity pulls it down...
A little further and further...
Leaving a moist trail upon her skin
Whilst her mind silently escapes into a bittersweet oblivion...
The song of her heart's lament
Paints her lips with a colour of deathly blue...
But her world, once black
Now conquered by a longed-for opalescent light...
(How I wish I was her guardian angel this night...
Not just a lost banshee...)
This is the story of little Jenjira, selling sex for grains of rice.