Far removed from the society of man,
She tucked herself behind a dank and dingy night,
Behind the sound of eager muezzin;
Clad in mascara 
And a black disenchanted chador;
a broken frame,
Governed by fears and extremism.
She loves her groom but hates the war.
Lumps her weak and slumped breast
Into the mouth of her infant baby, 
that begs a question of the world.
Always led through monstrous indignity 
Of sexual molestation and violation:
Tortured into compliance and complacence,
Fled from embattled cities into captivity,
This bearer of a caliphate's tales.
What more cruel torture, barbaric killing,
Cursed overture, did her sight grip? 
Dovetailing into the night,
Prayer book in arms.

She approached me,
With a catalyzed look, 
That hung on two worlds.
Covered in a shawl of reeds and dust,
She picked her emaciated steps,
Through mangled roads; 
Aiming to cross her ordeals,
Of genocidal tatmadaw's fire.
She is too weak to flee but she is fleeing.
Her torturous life lay within her manacled years.
Hoisted like a failing Union Jack.
She lives in death and dead in life.
Appearing and reappearing like a shadow person.
The earth trembled beneath her fragile steps.
This feminine victim of rohingya ethnic cleansing,
Walking unsteadily like a frightened child,
When he schools his legs to walk.
She is one, out of a sagging list.
Her sense of human hood,
Is dripping off her skin,
Like water; splashed on the back of a duck:
This ghostly woman,
Once the envy of a noble sea.
Her footfalls falling,
Like a poor kiss on the earth.
As she made it through the shrubbery.
Into another devastating life.
Cruelties in IDPs.

Eddie Awusi, Benin City, Edo State, Nigeria