The empty caverns of little stomach
Echoed through the moans.
Gratification could be sought with food,
She has learnt, not with expensive loans.
The burdened shoulders couldn’t slouch further
They were forced into a truce.
She had a younger brother to feed
Only that much was her poor, little truth.
The journalist, too, paid her heavily
After all, she didn’t speak for free.
The agonizing, bitter truth, he too must learn
Is as rewarding as the stuff on page 3.
A meal was thus secured
Despite her inner turmoil.
That night she’d brought
Hot food, packed in a tin foil.