Latest Highlight

RB Channel


Dr. Yasmin Haroon
RB Poem
February 28, 2013

    
I .... ain't any different

I need not stand among you for a reputable status,
Nor, I am one of the crowd to lavish extravagance.

I need not be a celebrated legendary figure, demanding a big round of loud applause,
I need not even be the one to share a jest.
Simply, I am 'the' one of you, just like anyone of you,
Deserving to be granted my innate human rights,
Those you profoundly so belittle.

Why do you look down at me?
I appear and in fact am just like you.

How do you haughtily deny my home and rights?
While you have explicitly stated yours and have sternly held on to them.

Why do you disown me from the very mother land I was sent to flourish on?

Why do you rip off my roots?
While you safe guard yours.

Why do you let me perish?
While you demand to be reigned.

While we speak in the same dialect,
Why do you not hear and understand me?

Why do you detest me?
When I can live in harmonious companionship with you,
And gift ourselves a promising future.

Why do you label me despicable?
While I offer you loyalty with indefinite sacrifices.

How can you leave me in desperate plight?
Why do you dispel me from what’s rightfully mine and yours, indeed.

We cannot question our fate to be born on this very land that you and I are belong to.
Wholeheartedly, we can celebrate each other's better sides and,
Set aside our differences.
Proudly commemorate our ancestral fathers and, 
Commence an amicable brotherhood together,
For all our generations to come and practice Freedom in its truest sense. 


Dr. Yasmin Haroon is senior medical intern at Gulf Medical University in UAE and is a native Rohingya.


Dr. Yasmin Haroon
RB Poem
February 24, 2013

The Chase 

Terrified, I run with all my might into the wild, 
Deeply heaving and profusely perspiring, 
Moist sparse my forehead and, 
Sweat-drops streak down the temporal sides, 
Of my hot, flushing skin. 

I hear them, swearing, cursing and hurling loud with immense rage, 
Echoing all around clearly. 
Unable to keep up with my pace, 
They are infuriated and feel threatened. 
How many of them, I can’t tell, 
What and how many weapons they carry, I can’t guess. 

To save my life is all I’m determined for, 
And those who are utterly helpless without me. 
I'm uncertain for how long I am running, 
I lose the track of time through the chase. 
How far are my people and village, I can’t speculate. 
I see the sun dimly shining through the wild withered branches, 
Slowly fading into the earth's vast horizon. 

My body is feeble and weary, 
Excruciating pain, I suffer all over. 
But I can’t recede, 
I can’t give up now, 
I have no choice, 
But to keep running towards my people. 
Or suffer at the hands of the tyrants, 
My beloved and I. 

They are not far behind me, 
Portraying the same substantial commitment to have me killed, 
As I am to defeat their conviction. 

My skin is bruised against the sharp ends of the forest 
And my naked feet are pricked by aged thorns, 
I hasten my pace as the darkness engulfs the wilderness. 
Eerie and unpleasant thoughts cloud my mind, 
Feeding on such would only slow me down. 
Even though arduous, I recall on memories, 
That of my family and the happier times. 

Heightening my spirit and hope, 
A subtle idea draws into my mind, 
To cause diversion and get them off track.... 
But, I was too late. 
I was approaching my village. 
Hot and dusty air brush against my blossom, 
And dark smoke swirl towards the open sky. 

I’m late....indeed, very late. 
Surrounded by what it would be to describe as Hell, 
Rubble and ruins at every corner. 
My family were tied up with ropes, 
Just like they would do the untamed, 
Innocent were not spared. 
Our homes were blazing with fire. 
Silently weeping with heads down, 
Inductive that we have lost our fight against the brutal oppressors. 

Witnessing what I have dreaded the most, 
I fall to my knees and my eyes fill up. 
I do not resist nor do I run again. 

This is not just the end, 
But a beginning of remembering us as part of History. 
I silently sigh and give in to my tormented fate.. 

I’m not a martyr, 
And neither do I desire to be celebrated as one in the far future. 
Heed what I say and be assured, 
With each life scarified, 
The zeal to win our lawful freedom, 
Will only head stronger and stronger...

Dr. Yasmin Haroon is senior medical intern at Gulf Medical University in UAE and is a native Rohingya.

    • Rohingya Exodus