May 2009: Nanthikadal Lagoon: An old child of Indian Ocean.
Yesterday, we made our
safe zone by hanging saris around us. Being blind to the outside is a moment of
secure feeling. Today, we have to | walk straight | and stand
still when needed. Is it true that crows fly straight?
The bridge is lower than
before. Under are people, floating like dead. The war has made crows into
vultures. A brown calf circles around the mother. Shelling is not a lullaby…
This water is murky.
Smell of the air is unbearable even for an ape like me. Living’s breath and
dead’s subsiding warmth have made water unreal. Can the word surplus be an
adjective for people? If we are dumped to the water, we will walk on it. We are
weightless.
Death is nothing, but the
wounds… We need somebody who is not wounded. Making a white flag is not that difficult | one out of our own
flesh | under the skin, flesh must be paled into white now.
2014
2014
© Subhadra Jayasundara
