STRAYED STREETS

Source: Unsplash By: Lasse Møller

 I tied my dripping hair,

in the afternoon sun when 1b colony's

only radio announced regulations of

THE NATIONWIDE LOCKDOWN. 

Abbu whined for cheap liquor,

my child gulped 2 dumplings in glee,

after azaan when groups came rushing with 

BAGS OF GOODS AND WOODS. 

Before I could barely comprehend, 

my family of 3 got back on roads, 

to not lay gravels but walk for 

MORE THAN A THOUSAND MILES.

On a path occupied by rich people,

driving giant 4 wheelers day and night,

now walked segments of working ants,

SEARCHING FOR FOOD, WATER AND YOU.

Women like me carrying weights of family,

of dejection, plunged by the 5 pillars of living,

waiting for our grievances to penetrate into 

YOUR THICK WALLS OF PRIVILEGE.

Tears glistening in her eyes, 

for the baby dying 6 weeks prior to sight the merry life,

Crushed by train passing freight for cities 

WE TOILED TO BUILD.

To tell our lived experiences of migrants 

as women drowning in 7 seas of social vacuum

you hardly wrote, of the memories, the furies

ABOUT MIGRANTS AND ME. 

WRITTEN BY ESHITA NIRWAN