They’re Kind Killers By Mayyu Ali A stream of blood gushes From where my husband and son were killed. I watched My baby snatched from me, Thrown into the bonfire Reflected in my eyes. He couldn’t even cry for full song, Burnt to fuel in a minute. At least I didn’t have to see the corpse like others did, Nor did I have to bury them. They’re kind killers. Killers who enjoy the hunt. One soldier asked for money and gold, I gave him everything I owned, including my earrings And then they raped me one after another. The last one said: I am not going to use my penis on you. Instead, he used his knife. They set me alight and left me for dead. I find myself silent and bleeding. The world is too brave to watch us being killed. That’s Me, A Rohingya By Mayyu Ali When I was born, I was not a baby like you are Without a birth certificate, Just like death When I was one, I was not a child like you are Without a nation, Just like a pet When I was at school, I was not a student like you are Without a Burmese face, Just like the bleakness of the future When I was in another village, I was not a resident like you are Seeking approval overnight, Just like a crazed detainee 31