I recalled when you pulled
my Longyi
and asked if you can have
Sanwin Makin.
I regretted not giving you one.
I didn't know
it would be your last request.
I recalled when fires
ravaged our homeland,
Burma.
Bullets flew everywhere
and explosions became a song
I loathed so much.
My ears bled
while my eyes teared
from smoke,
ash,
and pulverized stones
that clothed me.
I cried your name,
but I heard not your voice.
Then I saw you
amongst the debris.
You were pale, cold, and...
covered in red.
Hatred consumed me.
I lost myself.
A Japanese soldier threated us.
I glared him,
then his eyes told me
he’s a war victim too.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poesía[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
