I was five going six
When I was told, we women ought to fix.
Fix homes, children, and dreams
Broken hopes have vanished like steam.
Now eleven going twelve,
I was sold like a parcel,
My new owner, as old as my father
I am told to keep him warm,
Prolong his life a few years further.
Just like I was taught
I try to fix his home, his children
That’s how they know I am a good woman
A good mother in society’s eyes.
But who will fix me,
My broken dreams and childhood?
By: Luckylumbankira Fernandos
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