While I plea for compassion

For my mothers, children and wives

I kneel to God

And they kneel on my bare back

 

My house is burned down

And charred bodies lay on the ground

But I cannot try

Nor can I cry

They wield their weapons

And brandish their knives

While I plea for compassion

For my mothers, children and wives

I kneel to God

And they kneel on my bare back

A sickening mixture of sounds – murmurs from my side

And their roaring threats of ‘die!’ while they sack

My pictures flash on TV screens

And all I evoke from the audience is a wistful sigh

“This is my land.

This is my toil, my playground, my forefather’s haven, please understand…”

But I am pushed away with the words ‘illegal’, ‘terrorist’, ‘foreigner’

Toppled down before I can make an effort to withstand

Around all this animosity

I still hold a light of hope

Even though I am slung with a rope

The marks on my body show my struggle for freedom

And I live on through the prayers of my brothers echoing my undying call for

humanity in His Kingdom.

By: Aaliyyah Alam

(Dedicated to Rohingya Muslims of Burma and our oppressed brothers/sisters around  the globe)