Rohingya

40 thousand people

40 thousand phantoms

are marching towards you 

right now

you have taken their lands

you have taken to hatred

you have been taken by greed

they knew nothing of this

they knew everything

their backs, painted by barbwire,

cooked by bullets

know everything

40 thousand dreams

that couldn’t connect

how the price of onion & flour 

and the price of guns and tanks

and the wrath of Buddha

and the sword of Rama

would not let them 

return to their homes by sunset,

maybe, smoke a little,

and look at the river flowing by,

clouds making shapes in reds and oranges

so they turned with the tides,

with the agony of the moon, the weeping hills,

the alert golden winged vultures – 

with all history and being – 40 thousand vivid humans

first you didn’t count them

and now, you can’t

and, right now, 

in deep silence,

they are marching

towards you

towards the spot between your eyes

may 40 thousand nightmares be all yours tonight

Rohingya, flesh of me and my mother

soul of my sweet, big, ancient earth

you, 

friends,

shall live 

and they, who took your lands and bodies,

shan’t.