They walked miles, miles on tarred roads and lone tracks sure, sure to reach homes, homes their family.
Many days; many days to crossing states, crossing with little food and sparse water.
Waters flow, connecting states, and flow through my state too.
I’m confined within the walls of a house,
House that let me freedom, freedom of choice and choice of selection;
Drinking water to quench thirst, and quenching the pleasure of favourite coffee.
Where have they vanished, or should I assume News changed course, course of newness in old stories?
2020, Deeya Nambiar