PTSD

Like puppets that dance to the tune of the puppet master
Bodily integrity we had to barter
For a pawn's role in groupement
Dictated was our every movement
Down to our index trigger finger

Zombie-esque mindlessness
Anesthetized consciousness
Marching on, committing sins
Break-ins, bombings, burnings, slayings
Etched onto memories that retain the rawness

Some made it back
Seemingly in one piece, but with many a crack
On the inside, that cannot be discerned
Recurring nightmares of haunting experiences not penned
Self-annihilation the only thought that stuck

Martyrs and-slash-or heroes they call us
Is it worth all the fuss?
While they celebrate
We ache to recuperate
Our stories history shall never discuss

Noora Shamsi Bahar is a senior lecturer at the Department of English and Modern Languages, North South University, and a published researcher and translator.