IDP (Internally displaced person)

by Renton de Alwis

Written in July 2009, just after end of the war against the LTTE, it speaks of the tragedy of the innocents who lived under the charge of terrorists. The IDP camps at the time, held over 300,000 civilians and were resettled within a two year period. I had the opportunity to  work with a group of volunteers, at a camp for IDP’s in Chettikulam, Vavniya. This verse was written based on a traumatic incident of which I was told by a father we met.

I have a name and I am real.
Then why am I an IDP,
a number, behind fences ?
Waiting in line,
at toilet time,
at lunch and dinner,
for the 1880 grams of calories *
and anything more,
to eat,
drink,
and dispose.

They laid mines,
all around us,
made a hell on earth
for me,
my wife, my little son.
For my daughter …
it was a deeper hell,
she was sixteen last year,
when the ‘Boys’ came
to take her away.
She was too precious
for sacrifice
and I had begged of her,
to make it with
Banu
next door.

Banu the lame.
But what does it matter,
she came in the family way,
the ‘Boys’ had no use for her.

Then came the bombs.
Falling near, afar.
Deafening ears.
Hurting,
hurting deep,
hapless, helpless,
we lay on the floor,
hoping,
praying.

It s time to run,
with whatever,
wherever
beyond
the muddy waters.
Falling,
failing,
with wife,
son and daughter.

Banu,
he fell.
Fell
in a pool of blood
I only looked over
my shoulder,

He lay still.

Do I feel guilty?
Do I feel bad?

Am no terrorist.
Am no freedom fighter.
I had my land then,
to till and grow,
to feed them all.

What is guilt?
What is right?
What is good?
What is bad?

I did not know then.
Do not know now.

How can I know,
I have no name,
am only
a number.

I am,
an IDP

* Calorie content of the daily meal provided by the UNHCR at the time.  

 

Published in 'Kaleidoscope; An Anthology of Modern Sri Lankan Poetry' edited by Prof. D.C.R.A. Goonatileka, 2010