Sixteen migrant workers (were run over by a freight train
as they tried to make their way home)
No matter which way our world falls, only
one side is soiled, only one side is wounded,
only one side bleeds. This inequity is favoured
by a sky that cannot tell day from night. The
illusion of a silver moon is only in eyes forced
to look up. Hands that built our cities, walk
away from them, empty handed. But death is neither
random nor foretold. We formulate methods that
compute the value of lives. Zero or one. From that
we derive the rate at which they will be forgotten.
to know darkness –
the sun must first
understand its light
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.
Also read:
Curfew: Day 46