Clarion Call Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

(to the People of Chittagong Hill Tracts,
Bangladesh)

We must be beyond our fears
For we have to overcome
In this time
When living is only
Survival

The bullets are raining
Wrath uproots sanity from a soil long ago parched
Death is its own seed
The graveyard is a less somber place
Than the homes breaking at the weight
Of tyranny

Like the glistening light of pine torches
in an abyss enslaved by darkness
courage must go where cowardice reigns
Warmth must invade the Arctic cold
There is an exit from Takla Makan
Somehow one dropp of rain will fall on the desert

An old woman looks out her window
She sees turbulence and evil
of every description
knock on her door
Her weeping summons us
Listen to the voice of the past
“Do not let the guns steal your memory
Not your future, your songs, your laughter,
Cut the chill of the night
Whose coldness stole the cricket’s song.”

Life must smother death
The river of blood must dry up
Let the music be heard
for it was long ago drowned
by cries of despair

The head count begins
Let us go for shame
must not steal our soul
We conquer the darkness that swallowed hope
Slash the terror from whose breasts silence sucks
Crush the silence that emboldened terror
that paralyzed the soul
Revive the soul for its coldness
Is sapping life
Sing a song of hope in places
Where nothing but the wails
Of orphans and widows are heard

We have to go.