In the Land of the Rohingya, This Mother Can No Longer Weep

Denny JA
Karya Denny JA Kategori Puisi
dipublikasikan 26 September 2017
In the Land of the Rohingya, This Mother Can No Longer Weep

In the Land of the Rohingya, This Mother Can No Longer Weep


“Mother, I met that angel once again It brought me some rice
I am sharing it with you and father
I am also giving some to my friend”

Mother remained silent as she hugged her youngest child Her little child was feverish
His small body shivered tremulously
For three days her child had been suffering from starvation Yesterday he was forced to eat

Some rice shared by a neighbor Although it was already spoiled

Up in the night sky, she witnessed the moon wearing a shroud The land she treaded on emanated the scent of funeral flowers Steadily embracing her youngest child, she wailed:
“Oh, my dear child

Your death is already upon you”

Mother kept praying fervently:
“Oh God... Let Thy loving grace descend and save my child I have already shed all the tears I can...

I have no more strength to endure this”

She had spent the previous day searching for her oldest child He had been missing for a while
She heard that her child had been abducted
That he had been murdered

And that his organs had already been bid and sold

Mother had already had a hunch about this Because earlier that morning she heard a large tree Reciting Quran verses for the dead
It was as though the stones in that barren soil Were reciting a prayer for his departed soul

Her youngest child spoke again: “Mother, the angel is very kind
He has given me some ointment He has bandaged my wounded leg It will heal rapidly”

Mother remained silent She caressed her son’s hair Her child was delirious

The wound on his leg was getting worse

Flies were swarming on it
She no longer smelled the stench emanating from it

There was no more medicine in her tent Nor was there any more food
The only thing that existed there was death And wailing

Mother’s tears were depleted
A month ago, she herself had been raped by soldiers
A few days ago, her nephew Ahmad had been beheaded And a week ago her elder brother Saleh
Had been burned alive

There was no more water in her drinking glass Indeed a fragrance was wafting from the glass The sweet scent of frangipani blossoms
A flower often seen growing in cemeteries

This mother no longer had tears to shed
She was praying:
“Oh, God... If we are innocent and free of sin Please let me and my son

Just die...”


(The world is teeming with news that
80 thousand Rohingya children are
Suffering from hunger
The brutality that has happened is unparalleled Meanwhile the ruler of the country
Continues to caress the Nobel Peace Prize she received)


September 2017

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