I am Rohingya, do you know the Rohingya?
My people are left dead, raped and injured,
A silent murder like the work of a ninja,
And the Champion of Democracy didn’t lift a finger,
They came in their hordes killing us by the thousand,
They burnt our mosques, businesses and housing,
Put our brother in camps with fences around them,
The chains of the Shaytan now bound them,
Called a foreigner and kicked out of my own nation,
Fled to the Ummah thinking outstretched arms were awaiting,
But the nation of God had left us forsaken,
Their heartlessness for the brothers meant our hearts were braking,
But to the politicians our story didn’t effect them,
They saw themselves as Bengali first and Muslim second,
So we had to creep past the patrols to escape detection,
Or go back to our country and die by their weapons,
So spare a thought for my forgotten brothers,
Shed a tear for the wives, sisters and mothers,
Have some mercy for one another,
For when they feel pain the whole Ummah suffers,
© Copyright 2016 Frenzee Da Rebel. All rights reserved.
Poem / Romance
Poem / Religion and Spirituality
Poem / Poetry
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