Source: jadamee.wordpress.com

My mother gave birth to me,
among the rice fields secretly.
She wished that I did not cry
when I left her
pink matter.

She wished that I had died.
Her worried eyes foreshadowed the future.
I never understood her

Until that day in 1962
I saw a man that looked just like me
dead, hands tied behind his back, floating in the river.
I ran home in tears,
screaming that if this is what my people do to my people,
then I do not want to be Arakanese.
I do not want to be Burmese.
But I still found myself standing in front of the mirror
bleaching my skin and pulling my eyes further apart
and telling Allah that He will have to forget me for a while
because I do not want to die in the hands of the Burmese military.
The way I look does not please them, so it does not please me.

My mother walked in and wailed when she saw my burning skin.
I never heard her make so much noise, I thought I was doing the right thing.
She told me, “We are Rohingya. We deserve a place here.
Do not change your beauty for the persecutor.”

Homes burnt, birth certificates denied
abuse thrown, our identities hide behind their pride.
Mama and I don’t belong here,
so we join the helpless and help them get us away from Arakan.
We hitch a ride to Bangladesh
The guard says, with his fingers crossed behind his back,
“There’s no room at the inn.”
Mama, I’m sure I saw him grin.

She holds me tight. There’s nothing left for us to do.
Looking right, I see a country I refuse to submit to.
Looking left, I see a country I’m not allowed to belong to.
Looking forward, I see Suu Kyi sugar coating our broken bones.
So all we have left to do is float on this river
hoping that a land will allow us to call her our home.
A land that will see Mama and I grow old.

A poem to highlight the ethnic cleansing happening in Burma right now. A poem that will hopefully spread the word about the struggle of the Rohingyans.


Mabrur Ahmed

Beautifully written - reflects the struggle of the Rohingya very eloquently x

13 July 2012 delete
Muhammad Noman

My tears just start falling and i can’t stop them.........
Ahh but make sure and want to tell the whole world, these tears are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more expressive than ten thousand tongues. world have to listen our voice and feel the pain, struggles we Rohingya community are going through and have to do justice with all the most oppressed Rohingya community in ARAKAN state of Myanmar...... !!

13 July 2012 delete
Ceren Yilmaz

Heartbreakingly beautiful

30 July 2012 delete