On one side of an earthly bund, an old man sits hunched. Among thousands standing, charred from both outside and inside, he sits. Outside by the unforgiving sun, inside by the flames of hunger in the belly and flames of despair in the heart. He is trying to make a choice. Choices, Life is made of them. Infact I guess life is about them.
Do I now escape Or do I stick with the familiar plight
Risk of getting shot at or risk of dyeing off starvation
Do I run away and risk the lives of my Grand children across seas
Do I run away fro this camp to another camp and depend on the kindness of strangers
On the other side of the curb another man is sitting on the veranda, looking at blackened smolder rising from the other side and darkening the clear blue colour scheme above. His grandson is playing at his feet. His daughter is in the kitchen planing lunch . He does not want to go in to the kitchen because he knows the drill. The boy’s father has called in the morning , from the Vavniya camp, just prior to marching in on a "mission". And like every time he calls , the daughter will be with cloudy eyes, and will break down at random. In the evening she will go to the temple for the daily Bodhi pooja.
He shuns the situation he does not know how to handle.
He too is trying make a choice.
Do they have the same right as us
Were they actually victims or were they supporters at one point
Do I lend my hand
Do I extend my kindness
to the people coming from the other side.
PS: The decision would be easy, when we realise that it is in fact our long lost friend, relative who is on the other side