Being Rohingya By Ro Anamul Hasan Tell me why my world is so different from others? I grew up in a dark circle. Where should I look for happiness? Even time has no trace. Why does the dream melt inside my eyes? Reality is unauthorized. My life has no luck. Why are lines of fate Erased from my hand? We all wear human organs. Am I not the same as you? The world treats me like some other creature. Numerous complaints on my lips, But nobody tunes their ears to listen. I sent a message once, it reached the sky, Collided there, echoing, unanswered. I am baited for the hook By those I trusted the most. Let the sharks swallow me. I am a tiger for the rifle-shoot By those I honored the most. Let the shooters kill me. I am slaughtered in cold blood By those I obeyed the most. Let the earth devour me. I am handed a life sentence By those I served the most. Let the cell encircle me. I am burnt alive in the bonfire By those I relied on the most. Let the fire incinerate me. Are all these things about race or religion? Am I not a human being? I’ve been tolerating all this, Just for being a Rohingya. I was born in hell. I was born in the bloodshed. I was born on the battleground. I saw on television they had rescued a man. Many navy boats, helicopters. But not one wooden boat was sent to rescue Thousands of us drowning in the river. 35