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)
