A Post-colonial Reconstruction of Diaspora
Chapter One: To forget what I remember
It was the month afterThe monsoon rainsThe day we leftIn the darkIn the dark… like thieves onThe back of a truckWe left in the dark
We were ready to leave.Our bags were packedWe stepped on the gangplankBetween water and landBetween water and land we’d stayBetween water and land…For the rest of our livesFor the rest of our livesWhat lives?
Between land and waterThere is no going backSem retorno
She said it was nineteen hundred and something the day they all left to find a better place. Why did they go to nowhere beyond nowhere. ← 29 | 30 → She said we will never know. No history was written then only in our throats in our necks in our chests She said only here could we know the deaf Footsteps drawn on the black water of
The Kala PaniThe ship smelt of fresh made coffeeThe smell blew gently outsideOutsideI would come to know this smell wellI saw tears in her eyesLike I’ve never seen beforeFlowing like the oceanNever againAnd offering a tight embraceI nestled in her lapI promised notNot to leaveNot to leaveNot to leave herNever to leave herBetween water and landI promised to remember her
She said they all walked past her as she hid beneath the cardamom tree they walked past silently herded like cattle going to the slaughter house. She said she could smell them smell their fear smell their anguish....
You are not authenticated to view the full text of this chapter or article.
This site requires a subscription or purchase to access the full text of books or journals.
Do you have any questions? Contact us.Or login to access all content.