Somewhere a child mourns,
in the heartland of Buddhism creed,
and of extremists decreed.
She is not a dream nor a secret,
she is but a harrowing voice of unjust arrêt,
forced to wear around her neck
to maintain bullying in check.
She buries her face on her knees
and hides her sorrow in the shadow of her lost pedigrees.
Embossed her in the long list of displaced Rohingya refugees.
against Buddhism compassion,
Rohingya existential confession
For she cannot look up to the racism-smitten uncourtliness,
She thinks of the loneliness
She sees no promises through the shade of scattering camps
and of triumph of the democratic champs,
which gives her soul cramps.
through the flashback of torture and persecution that constantly relives
From the free bird in the sky,
From the thunder and the storm,
as the cloud that takes the form.
From the dripping water through the holes of her shed,
as the merciless rain bashed.
Rather extremism in various forms.
Her wreckage life – a product of political silence,
of ignorance and intolerance.
As the results of judicial void,
Buddhism compassion devoid
and widespread religious paranoid.
For the smouldering hearts
and thoughts of false-hearts,
she arises in the shadow of her own destiny
with the grain of mutiny,
against the incompassion,
She arises from the desolate lands
with the honey-voiced tone which beckons her stands.
For the hearts turning against different race,
With gleams like a dream in her face.
and the vision that her parents once embraced
for centuries in Arakan where her linkage is traced.
Dedicated to the millions of Rohingya stranded in the pool of uncompassionate hearts as the results of creed, greed and decreed, and silence, negligence and violence.