The Leather of the Square

Running here and there
She's seen on the streets of Lucknow
Draped from head to toe
In fresh leather that is her own.

The leather is never washed
Except when the Uniformed men
Take her to the public bath
And assault her starved form.

Her leather creaks everytime she is washed
Unquantizable scars are left
Her leather needs oil, nutrition
But water alone can she have.

She doesn't beg for food
She doesn't beg for coins
In fact, she begs not at all
Only wanders round and round the square.

But one thing she has in plenty
Her leather; Worn out and scarred
But call it fresh for it is her own
The only other thing she has is bone.

Some wonder why she is on the square
Others, why she's in the world itself
And she has nothing else to wonder
Only, why can't she sell that leather.