FROM THE CONNECT CENTRES I
ROHINGYA BLEEDS… | Maryam Gatawa
With a wounded and broken heart, I reach for a splint of my rib honed as pen, for pieces of my soul, inked from my blood, hot and raging. I bear a foreboding of tomorrow that may come for me, for you and our brethren in Myanmar.
If tomorrow comes, I will tell of atrocities meted upon Rohingya, and fresh blood flowing the grounds of Myanmar, of raving bullets that decorated the walls of Aleppo, of houses drowned in Makurdi, abuse of the Niger, of wars, senseless fights, gunshots and bombing blasts of Yobe, Borno and long forgotten places across our world.
If tomorrow comes, I will show you scars of written lines etched on my back, painful tattoos littering my skin and the world shall witness raw milk of inhumanity forced down our throats in turns, and compulsion for innumerable innocents.
If tomorrow comes, ask me what happened here and then, I will close my lids for welled up tears to roll, I will tell of cringing shrieks, groans and cries of our brethren in Rohingya, of my battered kindred and defiled blood of humanity.
Should history ask of Rohingya, I will report of our docility, and how we were rapaciously raped her. I will speak of folded hands and crossed legs adept at watching humanity die. I will say, we saw the oppressed gushed with blood that flowed in the wild, contaminated our soils that dried up.
Rohingya bleeds… ohhhhh…
If tomorrow comes, and the morning dew falls on leaves smeared with blood, I will dump this din of death for sea banks and shores of peaceful abodes, tell tales of human-turned-beasts, and monstrosities clothed in human skins bearing my name, your name, our names.
Sadly, I’ll tell these tales to the copper moon shining over the seas, re-echo touching moments of drowned children, mothers burnt before helpless eyes, wailing sounds of daughters standing over corpses of their parents, people buried beneath the rubbles of razed villages and corpses strewn across the lands.
My shadow shall know this pain, of how we watched humans die because fairness and justice died when the world deemed it otherwise… the pain brimming in me, is greater than the ruffling waters of the sea, great enough to shake the world to its foundation, and bring down the skies upon our skulls.
Rohingya bleeds… ohhhhh…
When shall we be free of darkness engulfing our souls? When shall we dig for pieces of us, lost in the sea of blood and demented souls? Who salvages the remains of humanity, wandering and lost to inhumanity? Until the sun rises and sets in-between the day, the air blows the gentle night breeze, dropping soothing dews upon the petals of a morning rose, can we breathe peaceful air.
If tomorrow comes, I will neither sing a song nor write any poem, I will never ask your return home. I am not ready to leave the banks and shores of the seas. Let me not sound days, months or years, calling your comeback for a salvage filling our hollowness of countless problems.
The bleeding world of Rohingya speaks of stopped pulses, eyes forever closed, seized breathes, wounded and broken hearts, tear drops and falling sweats, flooded ravines and killing valleys, splash of blood, painting the four corners of our walls.
Oh Wanderer!
When you come back, you’ll take the weight of our atrocities, slump and break your arms, crack your knees and shatter your tiny veins, you will be ears into a painful journey stirring pools of regrets leading to rivers of penitence. You will feel the damage and weight of your absence.
Rohingya bleeds…
Myanmar is burning…
Come back home love,
a soul awaits to cuddle you in,
a tiny heart will warmly
comfort your tired
cracked heels.
Come back home to me,
Else our stories, our identity
and our humanity,
shall be written in red
for me, for you and for all.
Maryam Gatawa is a young brilliant poetess and writer who lives in Kano, Nigeria. She is a graduate of Economics from Bayero University, Kano and a human activist with special concern for orphans. Writing and reading are what give her great joy as a passionate lover of arts. Some of her appetizing literary works were published in the African Writer Magazine, PIN Quarterly Magazine, Tuck Magazine and local Papers. She takes delight in travelling, chatting and brainstorming.
Maryam writes from PIN Kano Connect Centre where she serves as a Co-Rep.