By Pacifist Farooq
for Nur Alom
Bullet of the monsoon,
you rain on Rohingya refugees.
A light boom propels inside my eardrum.
Copper cases the flesh,
gunpowder burns the body,
and the smell is burnt chicken.
Bullet, clogging the soul,
heavy with the disease of despair.
Smoke darkens the evening field,
where a footballer plays forever.
Memories echo around my pen,
not over my eyes.
A river flows above my cheek.
Criminals hoist their victory flag.
Soon, hell is a flag,
for the judge of judges is alive.
Bullet, kill no more of my friends
(I cannot play football alone).
Bullet: hear this humble request.
A scene of grief decorates the hapless,
drives away the cool air.
Voices of bitter silence
lose control, run off at the mouth.
I am as cheerful as a grave
trying to forget its memories;
when I scored the goal, you assisted.
Tuñi Roóingyá ár mesut özil!
Bullet: kill drugs and human trafficking.
not footballers, not children.
Bullet: as if you were the solution.
How can I educate you with peace?
Pacifist Farooq is a young multilingual Rohingya poet, educator, teacher, translator, humanitarian activist, peace builder and footballer. He was born in t2000 in Buthidaung, Northern Rakhine state, Myanmar. In August 2018, he narrowly escaped from the Myanmar Tatmadaw and now lives as a refugee in Cox’s Bazaar refugee camp.