On trial you are
by born refugees, neonates of the camp.
rode rickety boat to flee,
crossed the bloody sea
with hope to lit life in lee.
And you, the tongue-tied,
lying on your beach bed,
wrapped in cozy swathe
closed eyes to sunbathe.
You never tried to remove blood stain,
never touched Ammi's travail in pain.
You always looked the other way,
and inside war-torn uterus, I felt at bay.
Hang your head in shame,
you can't even spare me a name.
Author's Note: "This is about the born Rohingya refugees of the camp at Kutulpalang in Cox's Bazar, many of whom do not even have a name as the article in the link here points out.
The article inspired me to write the poem."