I’m real happy that my poem is being spread around! Thank you for sharing it 🙂
My mother gave birth to me,
among the rice fields secretly.
She wished that I did not cry
when I left her
She wished that I had died.
Her worried eyes foreshadowed the future.
I never understood her
Until that day in 1962
I saw a man that looked just like me
dead, hands tied behind his back, floating in the river.
I ran home in tears,
screaming that if this is what my people do to my people,
then I do not want to be Arakanese.
I do not want to be Burmese.
But I still found myself standing in front of the mirror
bleaching my skin and pulling my eyes further apart
and telling Allah that He will have to forget me for a while
because I do not want to die in the hands of the Burmese military.
The way I look does not please…
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