our hills are bleeding—
teardrops trickling down
the valley
mingling with the static—
hollow waves of Kaptai lake,
underneath which lie 
ancestral lands—
drowned,
but not forgotten. 

villages ablaze—
beneath the
scorched earth,
lie smoldering 
essence 
of past inhabitants—
fleeing on foot, 
carrying their cultures 
their traditions 
in their heart,
searching for safety 
in the depths of the forest.

our hills are bleeding—
gunshots 
blare through the valleys,
and our brethren lie
bleeding,
as death gently 
puts them to rest,
tucked away from the world of hate. 

moshal jole—
hands raised in protest 
as we march down the rajpoth 
in step with our adibashi brethren,
injustice no longer 
will we tolerate,
our resistance 
shall shatter these
shackles of suppression.

justice and liberation 
shall be our destination,
united in love 
we forever will
march forward.

Kashfia Nahreen, an aspiring poet and writer, is pursuing a Master's in Creative Writing at the University of Liberal Arts. Vocal and loud, she is a steadfast intersectional feminist. Other works  are available @the.k.atelier.