In the moonless cold,
in the rainy, waterlogged fields,
on the long streets
in the web of side lanes,
no one saw anyone.
I return on the early night of November.
I do not hear the frogs whistling in the cold.
The buzzing of the bees has disappeared in the dark.
No one has said anything to anyone.
The brave,
the young buried,
the dead of the interstitial battles,
the broken and disappeared
on the streets of the world.
The patriots, the traitors,
mothers, children, refuge seekers,
those who provide shelter
the thousands drowned
in the pool of blood.
No one wanted to meet anyone’s eyes.
Friends, neighbours, my people, everyone.
Now tell me,
in our long journey
did we forget them?
Or did we die, hiding them?
In the darkness of karthigai*
without the light of a single lamp
I ask
my families and neighbours
where did we lose
the fire burning inside,
our roots extended in space?
*Karthigai is the eighth month of the Tamil calendar.
This poem has been previously published in the Practice, Research and Tangential Activities (PR&TA) journal. It is also available on A Smile Drying on a Vine (Red River, 2025).
