The Idea of Ethnical Cleansing



Rohingya is a plague
That will evaporate in the water cycle
When the clouds of doubts clash
In the sky, it will rain
Corpses with mangled faces or
Even headless spines
The mountains just wait with stretched arms
For the season of the monsoon
To clear this part of the history


You have to run like you want to live
Pack your little feet
Roll like a wheel in motion
Your hands can grab a bit of future
If you can escape
Their knives slitting your throats
Until then run, run, and run!


{Horrific past in making}


This land is a mark on the forehead
A bullet yet to be drenched in red
Where death comes in split peels of seconds
Licking its bleached teeth tasting
Yet of yesterday’s slaughters
And the world exhales a bad breath –


The world stares in SILENCE


Translating the word inferno:
Light the villages gently
The fire breathes a bit heavily here
As though its mouth needs to taste the raw
The fire rolls the tongue
To and fro
Few bones still caught between the teeth
Your child is crying
But you can only breastfeed
Either fear or blood


Fleet or perish
Erase the traces that can lead you back ‘home’
Because there is none
If you want some memories
Ash is what you get

 Poornima Laxmeshwar resides in the garden city Bangalore and works as a content writer for a living.

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