1 migrant worker (and the baby she had during
her long walk home)
Hope too is curfewed, hovering 1.8 metres away,
masked and gloved. Everything points to the
appearance of a god, let’s say goddess (but what
are the odds?), to take matters in her own hands
which of course makes the causality problematic,
but faith doesn’t necessarily have to rhyme with
reason. There must be a vanquishing, a triumph,
a reseeding of goodness and the inevitable miracle.
Or two. This is the time, isn’t it? What else could it
mean when the broken are still falling and the fallen
are still breaking , when you hear a million palms
join together, a million knees touch the ground, when
life wants to live longer and death needs to die sooner –
do we know the consequences of so much prayer?
how many dawns
will it take
to erase this endless night
For the millions of migrant workers making their way back to villages and towns in the hinterland, thousands on foot,walking hundreds of kilometres, as livelihoods are destroyed during the lockdown and hunger becomes a greater threat than disease.
Curfew: Day 51