AndaDa JaNEEN (Attention READERS: This social & political poem contains sex & violence)

Prologue to the poem: AndaDa JaNEEN.

Andada arrived the evening before due. She was a photographer at the height of the New World Order’s forming years, before the fall of empirical global-corruption. She had a rare opportunity to photograph and interview a prostitute in trouble for hooking with a high profile politician and Supreme Court Justice. She was spending the night before the meeting at the woman’s home on the edge of a strange city in America … it all happened so fast.

She met with her briefly that night to get a key to the room upstairs. That same morning, this same Judge cast the tie-braking vote to overturn Roe v. Wade. All abortions were now a crime. Reproduction’s future was now in Government hands.

As Andada started up the stairs, the door to the house opened and the Judge stepped in. He was not alone. ‘All muscle’ would be a way to describe his walking shadow.

~ ~ ~~ ~~

*Andada Janeen
did not have an exit

She shook be-
hind the bedroom door

The deadbolt (it seemed to be)
of small relief

The subject of tomorrow’s shoot
was now shouting

Loudly! “Get out now!”
“Get out!”

She was seen, before she could flee up the old stairs;
this act* —was of no consolation
*There were two rooms (at the top)
and she picked one

‘A deadbolt
on a bedroom door?’

This detail and thought
were both locked, She stepped back

The muscle
did not like this fact

She did not grow calm, when she next heard him say
“Don’t worry. She cannot escape.”*
*She heard
the Judge yell

“You will pay with your life
if a word or a peep leaves this house”

What she heard next …?
It could not be told …

It could not be shared
at all, except to say

A bloody
and violent rape*
*The weight
of man’s mad-danger filled the top hall

Her phone
was in a her bag; downstairs

There was no window
to look out

She backed into a lamp;
and it broke

She grabbed her flash
She then chose the dark*
*_“My final High Court ruling passed”
It’s to bad the dam condom broke”_

“The baby is dead.
Now clean this mess”

That’s when the door
to her room was samshed in.

And every thread she wore
was ripped from her flesh

“One word…?
And both your arms and legs go next.”
And then they both just left.
*The hall was clear.
She had to see.

She found her beaten;
half in shock.

“Don’t move. I’ll shoot
every detail.”

She stood there naked
with only her gear

“No! That was my dad”
She bled*
*The spray of blood
was everywhere

Yet, Andada’s not a woman
who ever gives up

She tried to think
’ … what could be done?’

“I know him!
He does not have kids.”

“How could you be…?”
She stopped herself*
“He killed the last one too. Now listen!”
*_“The CIA, The FBI …
“My mother was a corporate spy”_

“War chests …
Wars since Vietnam …”

— one greedy lie”

“I’ve been his slave
since I was nine”

“You think you know
how freedom dies?”
*Andada turned ’way
toward the steps

She made it half way down
then stopped

She leaned against the wall
and slid

The narrow walls
contained her life

It was all she could do
to drop into her head*
*Stiill her thoughts were
not of fear

She’d photographed
wars. The last twenty or so.

Her whole life
—she has never quit

She been though more
than the sewer of this

She’d die
before she could not speak*
*Life or death?

That is all she is*
One shot at a time

© Copyright 2/10/2008 C.C. Arshagra

Inspired by JARKO

AndaDa JaNEEN (Attention READERS: This social & political poem contains sex & violence)

C.C. Arshagra

NEW BRITAIN, United States

  • Artist
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