A Displaced Person
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| (Photo: Soe Than Win/AFP) |
A Displaced Person
Ro Mayyu Ali
RB Poem
November 8, 2016
Every day is a gift for a free person.
He assuages his appetite.
He soothes his asleep.
He adorns his body.
And he satiates his necessities.
But a person...
Whose frail roof leaks the rain drops to his forehead in rain
Whose turbid shelter frightens the beat of his heart in wind
Whose muddy floor frosts the skin of his back in cold
And whose life is a role of looking for an aid in daily basis.
He can't quell his hunger.
He can't diminish his thirst.
So, he sheds the tear to his cheek.
A displaced person remains to count on his homesickness.
His wish has no rise of Sun.
His hope has no fragrance of insurance.
His dream has no come of true.
And the same tomorrow occupies in his fortune.
A free person thinks of a new day.
He tours to worldly paradise.
He enjoys in natural beaty.
He dwells on the bed of rose.
He touches fresh air in green park.
And he names the world his own.
But a displaced person stands on the grave of dreams.
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream.
He can't quell his hunger.
He can't diminish his thirst.
So, he sheds the tear to his cheek.
A displaced person remains to count on his homesickness.
His wish has no rise of Sun.
His hope has no fragrance of insurance.
His dream has no come of true.
And the same tomorrow occupies in his fortune.
A glimpse into the calamitous plight of 160,000 Rohingyas have been displaced since almost a half decade in Sittway, Rakhine State.
