There is a mob at someone’s door

Banging and chanting as it moves

Desperate like hyenas on a hunt 

With a taste for innocent blood.

I have nightmares,

Visions of a past I was never a part of,

Visions of a future I doubt I will live to see.

When you ask me,

Am I afraid,

I close my eyes and death engulfs me.


Some hands do mean harm,

The scent of murder drifting in the air

They drag people out of their havens

Claiming lives as if it was theirs to take.

If I yell for help, 

If I beg, will you let me be?

You are wiping me off 

With a bloodstained sleeve,

Like I never was, like I never will be. 

Can you stop for once?

Look at yourself, name this beast!

In the heart of a divided nation

Can you at least bury me?


Zainab Fatma is a student of English Literature.

Featured image illustration by Pariplab Chakraborty.