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