I, Too, Am Myanmar.

RB Poem

April 16, 2017

I am the oppressed brother.
They burn my home down
And send me to an internally displaced camp.
When foreigners come,
But I complain,
And eat what I find in there.
And even grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When the foreigners come,
Nobody will dare
Say to me,
"Go to the internally displaced camp
And eat in there"
Then,

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am.
And be ashamed and repentant.

I, too, am Myanmar.
I, too, am a Myanmar.

The Nasaka and A Rohingya 

Ro Mayyu Ali

RB Poem

April 3, 2017

I was born to a bona fide 

By the genetic of Rohingya 

And it's Nasaka as a foetus 

In the womb of my country's dictatorship 

Known as one of the world's most brutal Juntas 

Perhaps, it's in 1991's Myanmar. 

In scorching heat of 1992, 

He with thousands of comrades 

In over hundreds of settlements 

With quite switch of Junta's past strategies 

Taken encounter into my heaven 

Not only to hack the branches 

But to eliminate the entire root 

"Look! A Bengali student! 

He'll pass matric and marry a wife who gives 10 million kyats. That's the only benefit of his educating in our Buddhist country!" 

Still echoing into my head 

What he told me in a check post 

While going to sit for my matric exam 

How could I forget each of his? 

He and me, not less than a pair 

Even he from royal Junta 

And I from prey of Rohingyas 

How much he's called me 'Bengali' 

In his tone of red-nose mood 

Never be the equal grand of 

My mom ever called me 'Dear' 

Moment of my frequent glimpse 

Into the hidden chapter of his reign 

A time of my heart feeling goes out 

Fear is my first feeling 

When I open my eyes in morning 

Just life in empty joy 

Sound sleep through the lonesome dark 

Because of chronic and traumatic 

Shame and guiltiness begin to surround 

Thought of ending life is common 

I might forget his feature 

Shall never I forget 

How he made me feel in my boyhood. 

What he led me suffering 

In full guile of rigor and rampage 

A high-court level of sobs and wails 

Identities were confiscated. 

Testimonies were degraded. 

Peak of denial in every step 

Tangible coercion for every breath 

In a very short length of stay, 

Everything in our life descended 

Into a whirlpool of wreckage 

And ornament of havoc, as well 

Ah! How allergic all of his were! 

Every single practice of his flares 

The dark pines of our mind dip deeper. 

Women are widowed and single. 

New-born are without certificates. 

Children are lack of welfare. 

Young people are broken. 

All lost hope and are traumatized. 

To a group, every string is well-cutted off. 

This is the way a group of people be expelled 

Not with a mass slaughter 

But with whimper after whimper 

Indeed, he's one of the most doleful 

Of genocidal operations against Rohingya 

So even the masterpiece of Bengalization to elite Rohingya 

He's the one 

Who herds affection towards the animosity 

He's the one 

Who turns other's dream to nightmare 

He's the one 

Who keeps people dead being alive 

At the end his decade, 

All ever has he well set up 

Bequeathing his innate legacy 

The victory he sought was won 

And farewell in laughter and flavour 

On 15 of June, 2013, 

He the cobra saw the bound of the halt 

And transformed to BGP 

And I'm made an incredible illegal immigrant. 

Verily, I'm made an immigrant Bengali. 

I'm seen as a Bengali. 

And now I'm a Bengali. 

A Myanmar's well-generated Bengali! 

The poet is an original Rohingya. He himself was the victim of Nasaka operation. Nasaka, the Burmese term called to Border Immigration Forces. In 1992, it's established by Myanmar's Junta administration to set up the genocidal strategies against Rohingya. After 2012-June violence, it officially came to a halt on 5 of March, 2013. And now it is seen as the Border Guard Police (BGP) in Northern Rakhine State.

RB Poem

January 26, 2017

That's Me, A Rohingya.

When I was born,
I'm not a baby like you.
Without a birth certificate
I'm like just a dead.

When I'm one-year-old,
I'm not a child like you.
Without a nationality
I'm like just a pet.

When I'm in school,
I'm not a student like you.
Without a Burmese face
I'm like just a future-barren.

When I'm in another village,
I'm not a resident like you.
Having approval for overnight,
I'm like just a loony-bin-detainee.

When I pass over my town,
I'm not an inhabitant like you.
Holding Form-4 authorization,
I'm like just a nomad.

When I'm in university,
I'm not a fresher like you.
Being denied a professional major,
I'm like just an invalid.

When I try to approach with my peoples,
I'm not accepted like you.
Being suffered from apartheid and chauvinism
I'm like just a quarantined.

When I wish to get married,
I'm not a fiance like you.
Having approval for marriage,
I'm like just an alien.

When I intend to repair my earthen hut.
I'm not allowed to do like you.
Facing tangible denials,
I'm like just an invader.

When I arrange a small trade,
I'm not a vendor like you.
Being ongoing restricted and confiscated,
I'm like just a pauper.

When I apply for a civil service,
I'm not a candidate like you.
Receiving a motivated rejection,
I'm like just a segregatee.

When I'm hospitalized in a state-run clinic,
I'm not a favoured-patient like you.
Being marginalized and discriminated,
I'm like just an oustee.

When I bestow to follow belief in,
I'm not a faith like you.
Being restricted for worship and demolished mosques,
I'm like just a non-man-kind.

While I'm of an orchestrated riot,
I'm not a survivor like you.
Without an insurance for safety,
I'm like just a ripe-victim.

When a New Year turns in,
I'm not a civillian like you.
Being under the colorful decades-long operations,
I'm like just an inventory-item.

Even I live in my country where I was born,
I can't name it my own like you.
Without an identity,
I'm like just an immigrant.

Even I breath the air of this sky,
I'm not a human being like you.
Without a reliable undertaker,
I'm like just a loner.

Even I see the sunrise,
I'm not a living-kind like you.
Without a fertile hope for tomorrow,
My life is like just a sandy-castle.

Despite apex of inhumanities
And dire of immoralities
I'm quite surrounded in
My skin remains trembling
Just to feel once the essence of full freedom
My heart remains hoping
Just to walk once like a man in my world

Indeed, no one nowadays is like me.
The only one as alike as
That's surely myself
Perhaps, I'm none other.
Just a Rohingya!

RB Poem

January 3, 2017

Days are going on.
Trust and value of men are melting down.
The impurity in the hearts of mankind
That fades away the beauty of human nature
How we're thrilled faking a smile
When others are dying!
Is that human moral?
Hiding a truth in heart is a foetus of great lie.
Thus, I too believe about those days in life.
But never I imagined that
It'd be so swift in these ways.
And day by day,
A new wave of atrocity comes to strike away.
Man sucks men blood.
Governors annihilate civilians’ dwells.
Indeed, mankind turns to wilder.
And quite against the light of morality
And I feel that it's my own.
That I want to author as I'd do.
But, too heinous to take in my soul
And I lose all controls.
My hand begrudges to take hold.
My fingers tame to ink bold.
And teardrops on my book

Lives are passing on.
Love and kindness of men are vanishing on.
The ignorance in the thoughts of human-beings
That wanes out the grace of human etiquette.
How we're apathetic seeing in silence
When others are being eliminated!
Is that human virtue?
Breeding a hatred in heart is an offspring of great pogrom.
So, I too believe in man-made disasters.
But never I thought that
It's be so ruthless in such ways.
And day by day,
A fresh catastrophe comes to exterminate.
Man takes men souls.
Race hectors each other.
Indeed, mankind turns to cruller.
And quite against the charm of humanity
And I feel that it's my own.
That I want to count on as I'd do.
But, too perilous to take in my heart
And I stifle all breath.
My hands envy to take hold.
My pen slips down on the spot.
And teardrops on my book

Ro Mayyu Ali

RB Poem

December 8, 2016

Oh, my little!
In your dinghy age,
Bullet has frightened.
Sword has wretched.
Arson has blazed.
Perhaps, you had nights on shoulder in fears.
You had days crying on in deficiencies.
And you had a history of apex denials.

Oh, my little!
Even in your tender age,
A lots has happened.
And the world just sees it in silence.
But it didn't save your life.
Yes, as you're a Muslim.
Yes, you're.
Ah! What a racial trial!

Oh, my little!
Even you didn't know...
Why you had to face like that!
But you didn't deserve it, at all.
However, a mercy wipes my tear when I mourn for you.
As you're bestowed a small funeral.
You're a groom of innocence.
You're a great martyre in mankind.
And you'd be remembered...
As one of the most adventurous blossoms in the garden of humanity.

Oh, my little!
What could I do for you?
Though I'm survived for today
For me, no insurance of tomorrow like you.
Nay! No one guaranteed for your identity in worldly life.
But now I'ld warranty for your destiny in afterwards.
It's the highest range for you in Jannah!

Oh, my little pride!
Pardon me!
Just once pardon me!
What could I do for you?
My life has no insurance like you!