February 24, 2013
Terrified, I run with all my might into the wild,
Deeply heaving and profusely perspiring,
Moist sparse my forehead and,
Sweat-drops streak down the temporal sides,
Of my hot, flushing skin.
I hear them, swearing, cursing and hurling loud with immense rage,
Echoing all around clearly.
Unable to keep up with my pace,
They are infuriated and feel threatened.
How many of them, I can’t tell,
What and how many weapons they carry, I can’t guess.
To save my life is all I’m determined for,
And those who are utterly helpless without me.
I’m uncertain for how long I am running,
I lose the track of time through the chase.
How far are my people and village, I can’t speculate.
I see the sun dimly shining through the wild withered branches,
Slowly fading into the earth’s vast horizon.
My body is feeble and weary,
Excruciating pain, I suffer all over.
But I can’t recede,
I can’t give up now,
I have no choice,
But to keep running towards my people.
Or suffer at the hands of the tyrants,
My beloved and I.
They are not far behind me,
Portraying the same substantial commitment to have me killed,
As I am to defeat their conviction.
My skin is bruised against the sharp ends of the forest
And my naked feet are pricked by aged thorns,
I hasten my pace as the darkness engulfs the wilderness.
Eerie and unpleasant thoughts cloud my mind,
Feeding on such would only slow me down.
Even though arduous, I recall on memories,
That of my family and the happier times.
Heightening my spirit and hope,
A subtle idea draws into my mind,
To cause diversion and get them off track….
But, I was too late.
I was approaching my village.
Hot and dusty air brush against my blossom,
And dark smoke swirl towards the open sky.
I’m late….indeed, very late.
Surrounded by what it would be to describe as Hell,
Rubble and ruins at every corner.
My family were tied up with ropes,
Just like they would do the untamed,
Innocent were not spared.
Our homes were blazing with fire.
Silently weeping with heads down,
Inductive that we have lost our fight against the brutal oppressors.
Witnessing what I have dreaded the most,
I fall to my knees and my eyes fill up.
I do not resist nor do I run again.
This is not just the end,
But a beginning of remembering us as part of History.
I silently sigh and give in to my tormented fate..
I’m not a martyr,
And neither do I desire to be celebrated as one in the far future.
Heed what I say and be assured,
With each life scarified,
The zeal to win our lawful freedom,
Will only head stronger and stronger…
Dr. Yasmin Haroon is senior medical intern at Gulf Medical University in UAE and is a native Rohingya.