We had no hand in determining the place and the caste we were born, yet they determine so much of our life, almost to the extent of defining it…
When I heard, they would come that night, the mob
we fled to the nearest hill, fearing death,
worried that we might never come back again.
We tried to make as little noise as we could
in that grim darkness of the silent trees
and soon their subdued footsteps echoed as they came.
Few, too weak or too bold, who stayed behind-
some fought a battle lost, some with luck resigned
for their end came quickly with a single blow,
the rest were beaten to a slower death.
When the houses were set aflame, the fire
almost exposed us with its orange glow
but the mob was too absorbed, thankfully,
in their victory-dance to look around.
The heavy smell of human flesh burning
grew in the air as we stood too petrified
and the orange light brought an early dawn.
Now we are here with nowhere else to go,
I beg you please just look at them, the kids
you would know the hell from their empty eyes!
I beg you please, for the sake of God and
for the sake of precious humanity
do not push us back to persecution,
do not push us back to the place where we were born!