I don’t remember the place
where the only colour I saw was green
where the blazing heat would challenge me –
not even the tall twisty trees
which they tell I used to climb.

I have forgotten
the mangy dogs I used to bark at
or the snakes I waited to pelt rocks at,
the fish I caught by hand-
even the dragonflies I trapped-

also the taste of the just ripe mangoes
which I would climb the trees to pick
and the giant fish which would not fit
in the kitchen; and the chickens
which would be slaughtered
in front of me, and the birds,
sling-shotted out of the sky,
that would all end up in a pot filled with spices
which would soon be empty unless I got there first…

I don’t remember the taste of dried dates
or the mangoes, the peaches, the jackfruit, the pineapples,
the juiciness of it all.
I don’t remember the smells
the market filled with men just waiting for a customer
or the smell of the cut grasses being stored for the livestock.

I don’t remember the view from those
huge hills which were so hard to climb.
Or the eagles soaring high in the sky waiting
to pull something out of the green
the cows grazing on the grass
all year continuously munching, munching away
not even the painted fences standing there in neat rows.

No, I don’t remember the day my life
was taken away.
I don’t remember the fearless boy I used to be.
I don’t remember my country…
Bangladesh.

COMPAS Schools Poetry Competition 2013
Second Place