Migrants are people who leave their homes to keep them

Dignity is a luxury, as there are mouths to feed

Home is often a Skype screen

Where a grandpa tears to see his little angel

The little angel does not fathom

His sacrifices

Christmas, Eid, Onam, Pongal

Are dates on a digital calendar

Lives are spent in a perennial countdown

The remittance exchange is a node to transfer love

When presence is pravasi

Absence is a way of life

And lives are stuck in the past