The beautiful skies were grey that night.
So dark it was, but not night though.
Unlike every day, it wasn’t bright.
I got my wrap and hid below.

Far away from my father and mother,
I still don’t remember where they were.
In the other room, there was my brother,
and my sister… I couldn’t find her!

That frightening time, I was four years old,
when unknown army attacked our home.
I thought it was tale my granny has told,
but it was real, and ended with a tomb.

I heard them breaking the door,
with their big shoes full of mud.
I screamed, “Mom, is it the war?”
“Mom, I don’t want to see blood.”

Neither she nor daddy talked.
My small siblings were hushed.
Towards me, a soldier walked.
He grabbed me out and rushed.

I started to scream and to cry.
Looking all round me, I saw nothing but death.
It was my parents, brother and my…
They even killed my sister.. She had no breath.

Outside my old home, I just saw no lane.
Neighbors, trees, pets were gone.
Just mess, I had no words to explain.
The Srebrenica massacre had begun.

I was taken to a far camp,
where men, elders and boys were beaten.
On us, soldiers started to stamp.
I bled, I felt like I was eaten,

Women’s mourns were heard.
Army began to hit them and ****.
Though, they had no word.
From the monsters, they could not escape.

So tired I was, so I passed out.
Never woke up until I was taken,
to some place I never heard about,
It was with almighty God, in heaven!

Dear State Counsellor.

Once I saw you as an icon of morality.
A bastion of hope.
A ‘dancing peacock’ in a troubled world.
Some called you the ‘midwife of democracy’.
Others an ‘Oxford housewife’,
a peacock ready to show its eyes.

But now….

The Children, babies, women and men of the Rohingya
are butchered, ***** and murdered by your
soldiers as you read poetry to children.

And the rest of the world stands by waiting for
the Norwegians to take away your Nobel Peace Prize.
Another sense of justice, lost again.

The working hands of the Muslim men in Rakhine
are tied by the Buddhists, the lovers of peace.

Their guns gleaming and your army standing by.

“It wasn’t us” say the Generals
“It was the Buddhists”.

But of course we have seen this before.
At Srebrenica, Nanking, My Lai and Auschwitz,
until the gas came.

And the world stands by.
Another failure, another genocide.

Now, as your military load the death carts
and bury mothers next to their children.
The Buddhists place flowers on the mass graves.
And I call for you and your ‘men’
to be accountable for those burnt by the sun.

I am grabbed away
Gulping down the rising fear
I feel myself slip from your grip
The bubbling anxiety
And the pain in your trembling voice
Makes me call out
My bag Mama
Pick up my bag for me
I am lead along with others like cattle
In a line
Away from you
The only arms I have ever known
But I don't look to see where we are going
I look at my blue trainers
As though I am seeing them on my feet for the first time
My feet are moving and I wonder if my brain is sending the signals correctly
Because I don't want to leave you
I am squeezed into a truck
That jostles with the heaviness of the situation
My hands slip into my pocket
And I wish that there would be such a pocket where I could not only hide my hands
But also myself
In it I feel the teeths of the wooden comb
The one that I took from papa
I look around at the faces
And they mirror mine
I recognise uncle Suleiman
And Hussein from the shop
I can't see Fahima
It's just men
I dig the comb into the tips of my fingers
Liking the pressure
Because it keeps my mind from drifting to nosense
I did not know that tomorrow I would lay down
Outside beneath the open sky
In a row with İbrahimoviç and several others
Our faces pressed against the earth
That bullets would rain down
And my back would burn
Quickly turning my legs numb
Distantly I would hear the roar
Of a Serbian soldier
"Are there any survivors?"
Someone would cry out instantly
"I am alive, please **** me!"
He pleaded and I was mute
But we both got what we wanted
I do not know how long I lay in that field
Then another and another
I lay with hundreds of others
But years later
Mama would be called
To see my blue trainers
And Papa's comb
To say that I was hers

A heart can’t beat when it’s dripping on the floor.
A mind can’t hope when it’s digging its own grave.
A mouth can’t smile unless it has a reason to live.
A foot can’t step unless it has the freedom to run.
A hand can’t hold when it’s held against its will.
An eye can’t see when people are blind to its suffering.
A body can’t move when it’s shackled to a stone.
A person can’t live when he's denied the life he deserves.

You deserved so much more.