Spring 1996 • Vol. XVIII No. 2 Poetry |

Pilgrimages

          For Parvati Homer Vanniasinkam The tragedy is that you never knew, never wanted to know me, was it because even in the past we had taken different routes, the confluent rivers of our blood deflected by time, rifted by upheaval runs dry on alien heritage maps, boundaries overrun by wilderness or defaced by dunes, now desert leaving an arid plain dotted by landmarks of a ruined house, an elephant of stone sinking into the shifting sand buried deep reaching to a foundation's forgotten root. Is this all that's left?   Now separated by the centuries you will never know me and my kind traveling miles and miles away through Murugan's forest abode hovering in the peacock shade, you spent many nights, many days to reach a place of pilgrimage to worship at a shrine I never sought nor reached, you stopped within the glade, resting at dusk, your caravan of carts beneath the trees, bullocks grazing on the grass, and with your hands, placed upo

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Chicago

By Jean Arasanayagam

          For Parvati Homer Vanniasinkam The tragedy is that you never knew, never wanted to know me, was it because even in the past we had taken different routes, the confluent […]

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