With the COVID-19 pandemic, the roots of our family – our parents – have left us, and the trees are left behind to grow by themselves.
A poem on losing loved ones to COVID-19 while watching the government brutally mismanage the situation.
'A corpse trudges in the cemetery to find himself a grave.'
The dreadful statistics coming out of India are not just numbers – they relate to people and to suffering.
'What quota of grief is acceptable to reserve for yourself when your whole country burns, your whole country mourns?'
We may have passed the previous year with little hope, 2021 is exhausting any that is left.