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