By Haikal Mansor
They had a world where they woke up in the sunshine.
They had a path on which they walked with pride and freedom in combine.
They had a family that loved, laughed and played together.
They had a home where they slept in peace and all-loving-weather.
They had a future which laid their children’s foundation like a hope-breather.
The presence of Rohingya is blighted by a deep, dark world,
one where the sun never shines;
the path paved with thorns and bones;
the family torn apart, few left in one;
the home with no peace;
the future found nowhere in piece.
Within the wall of darkness holds
the open Apartheid State controlled
by the men in uniforms uncontrolled,
the concentration camps in wield,
the mass killing fields,
the burned houses,
the bulldozed villages and mosques,
the charred babies,
the raped, burned women’s bodies,
the mutilated men’s bodies.
On the other side of the wall of darkness rests
the largest refugee camp where
a million Rohingya trapped in the horror,
haunted by the terror,
in the darkest world of error,
chased by disasters in many forms,
and rushed in sending back to the men in uniforms
where the ghosts of terror grow stronger;
the souls of victims weep louder;
the safety and justice is nowhere near
which they most fear.
No light to shine the path of darkness.
No sunshine emerges to break the wall of darkness.
Nobody wills to Protect the Rohingya.
No one sets up the light of justice for the Rohingya.
Yet they crave for the hope of light
among those who hold the grain of kindness in bright
to break through the wall of darkness aright.