Jaffna, Poetry

From the Hold

I don’t merit praise, who am I to suggest
inventing the west moon for the Lankan

imagination, or that one day a Tamil child
will rise from fires to claim the rights

of his tribe? Boat people, Tamils,
flee Serendip. Governing criminals

are stopping the motors, forcing
families to remain in their island prison.

Who shouts in the Hague,
on Downing Street, outside

the White House? More Tamils,
defenders of human rights, liberals,

Don Quijotes, while the murderer,
and jail keep, licks his mutton chops.