Rohingya

Image courtesy BBC: http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-41585864

I know, little one, your fear is real

You’ve heard the screams and you’ve seen the pain

The cuts are deep, no time to heal

For the wolves are hot on your scent again.

 

Lady with child, babe to your breast

You’ve lost your love and you’ve missed the train

You find the shade but no time to rest

For the wolves are hot on your scent again.

 

Your tears have dried on the face of your bride

In her shallow grave on a grassy plain

Have to save that kiss for the other side

For the wolves are hot on your scent again.

 

Too old to run, too weak to walk

Everything they burned lives on in your brain

You can tell your tales, but you’ll break the clock

For the wolves are hot on your scent again.

 

Get drunk, my dear, on this patience sweet

Time is dead; it’s time for the truth  to play

Let the dew on the meadow wash your feet

As the angels hunt and the wolves are prey.

 


Featured image courtesy BBC >> http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-41585864

Post Categories: Poetry

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