For the Rohingyas and Us

by Cheran Rudhramoorthy, on Facebook, August 31, 2017 (Also in Tamil)

  1. I abandoned my child,
    My God
    I cannot ask you anymore
    For forgiveness.
    Just three minutes
    Before killing the child
    you chopped off my hands.
    Amid pain, grief and wailing
    you will not have grace.
    When the spear was inserted softly
    into my child’s stomach,
    thinking that
    The mortifying smile
    he threw at me then,
    Would turn into their cruel curse
    And remain there,
    I departed.
  2. The Buddhist monk
    Wearing a pale purple robe
    Says,
    The Sun does not know
    To forgive.
    In her begging bowl,
    A severed child’s hand.
  3. When I arrived in Rakhine
    I was wearing my Myanmar sarong;
    Vermillion and sandalwood paste
    on my forehead, too.
    There is no problem
    If you are a “Hindu”,
    He –
    A friend,
    Dear one,
    A Buddhist
    A guide
    -said
    Your colour is not welcome here.
    Being a light-skinned Hindu
    Will let you live here.
    Still, let’s see, you come with me
    He said.
    We walk together.
    My friend asked
    Are there brown skin folks
    in Canada?
    I could not prove that
    I was not a Bangla
    To the Buddhist mob
    Approaching me before
    I took the next step.
    Protecting our colour, I escaped
    And gifted a lotus glower
    To Aung San Suu Kyi.
  4. Have you seen a man
    Handing a handful of rice (or a biscuit)
    To a child crying in hunger
    And then sever its head?
    in Myanmar, Sri Lanka, Vietnam, Congo
    Kashmir, Yemen, Palestine, El Salvador…

Cheran Rudhramoorthy
August 31, 2017

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