Poem: ‘This Is Not Your Country, They Said’

Trigger Warning: The following poem contains incidences of graphic violence.

I woke up to see that I was on the haystack;
I tried to gather strength to stand on my feet.
I remember last night my mother took me into her lap,
And told me stories of valorous princes and beautiful princesses.

I fell asleep.
I searched for my mother the next morning,
But she was not around.
Some gruesome figures in Khaki were loitering outside the broken window pane.

I saw my mother.
She was naked.
Some people were laughing in her face;
She was crying.

Just a few steps away,
My father was mercilessly being whipped for reasons unknown.
My elder brother was stoned to death.
They say, my sister is missing since last night.

And then I discovered a wound on my leg,
I was bleeding profusely.
Everything around me looked shabby.
I was in a detention shell.

They yelled,”You bastards, you don’t belong to this nation.”
Then again, a crowd’s laughter sent a sensation of chill down my spine.
I looked at my mother again standing naked with her eyes downward.

I didn’t have much of courage left to throw counter questions.
I kept quiet.
This time, I looked at my father,
Who once used to stand against any oppression was too silent.

Then again one of them yelled,
“How dare you live here without any valid documents? You illegal bastards!
“Your forefathers came here crossing the barbed wire.”
“This is not your country.”

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