Creative disorder in north and south

Creative disorder in north and south
by Rosalie Zerrudo

i listen to the story of your people
surrounded by frontline activists
i feel one and connected
that my pains are now woven
in this tragic poetry
we walk along graveyards
where monuments are built
to honor your ancestors
who died, committed suicide and sacrificed
in the name of peace and democracy
where graveyards are like classrooms
and a place to worship the heavens

in the place where the three rivers meet
in the cold we had a glimpse of the north
with hidden landmines on the side
surrounded by barbwires
where a nation divide
borders that started in our minds

when do we stop killing our own people

i cried with your people
i cry for the mothers who lost their children
i cry for women who has to work
sixteen hours a day in factories
to survive in the sixth costliest cities in the world
i cry for migrant workers who work like slaves
in bitter winter inside the closet of multinationals
i cried with Chandra Kumari Gurung
who has to stay in a mental institution for more than six years
just because people were ignorant about Nepal
i cry for the lost love of lovers who has to live separate lives
when the north is heavens apart
from the south on earth
i learned to love your people
i learned to eat kimchi
but one great thing
i can bring with me back to my county
is the spirit of your story
that remains alive
not only in the archives
but as a symbol of courage and determination
which toppled a dictator
that changed a nation

so i pray that the democracy in my country
shall flourish as vibrant as your struggle
as fresh as the rose flower
that pricked the soldier's heart
in time of the uprising
where many of the young
has offered their lives