The women who wrote these poems are all but one former members of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE). All were detained and tortured after the end of the armed conflict and were forced to flee abroad, leaving loved ones behind. They vary in age from their twenties to sixties; one is widowed, some married and some unmarried as of yet.

They attended a weekly psychosocial programme in London where they began to read Tamil poetry. Poems included ‘Lost Evenings, Lost Lives’ (edited by Lakshmi Holmstrom & Sascha Ebeling), Packiyanathan Ahilan’s ‘Then There Were No Witnesses’ (translated by Geetha Sukumaran) and Cheran’s ‘In A Time of Burning’ (translated by Lakshmi Holmstrom).

The women in the group started composing lines of verse themselves, responding at first, to a word given as a prompt. The lines were typed on phones, scribbled on scraps of paper – transient and shared on a WhatsApp group. They poured their pent-up feelings of pain, emotion and desire into words, sharing their inner worlds. All this while in limbo – trapped by COVID-19 pandemic and waiting for life to restart so their asylum cases could be processed, and a new life begin.

There are more than 100 poems now – extraordinary works of self-expression, exhibiting courage and love in the face of unimaginable suffering. They are poems of healing.

We publish six of those poems below.

Life

If God gives me the right

to be reborn as whoever I wish,

I would refuse to be born again.

 

As my desires turn to ashes

life on this earth is merely mechanical.

 

The belief in the sweetness of the future

makes the bitterness of the past disappear.

As time moves on it becomes clear.

Life is a battlefield.

 

Whether seen or unseen, several hundred enemies

began this war. Whether you were against it

or gave way to it, its impact

was always your own.

 

A thousand reports, their words dipped

in poison, flew like arrows

turning our minds into battlegrounds.

 

Life taught us so many, many lessons.

Like birds seeking ripe fruit

our relatives sought money.

In this panic stricken time

no one gained from this.

 

Friendship is a blessing from God.

Why does time make its colours disappear?

 

To speak ill of others has become the duty

of neighbours. Like a soap opera

with thunder and lightening

this pestilence crushes me.

 

On the wheel of life

happiness and pain interchange.

Yet for us the wheel seems stuck

on permanent suffering.

 

That fleeting time which knew no pain

has disappeared, and a time

that knows no happiness has dawned.

That special time, which flourished

in the sea of joy has been lost

and I had no concept of it, until its loss.

Is this to be my fate?

 

Even though my body is tired

of bearing this life of suffering,

like a parrot waiting for freedom

I too wait. Filled with hope.

Looking forward to a new beginning.

 

• Saaviththiri - (translated by Shash Trevett)

 

 

A Love that Blossomed in War

Heroism turned to love

and we found each other

during the holy war

to liberate the motherland.

 

He shone brightly with bravery,

wisdom and virtue. He rejoiced

in praising love above all else.

The suffering of the people became his own.

 

I too was not exempt: I became bound

by his love. For many years we lived

as one, crossing long distances,

journeying together.

 

And then one day our two hearts lost

their compass points in destiny’s game.

 

The news of my beloved’s

‘Heroic Death’ reached my ears

my small heart crumbled.

 

It’s a lie, I screamed, trembled,

shattered into pieces.

It was disastrous news.

 

Sixteen years have now passed

and my mind still has not the courage

to forget him. It is impossible

to forget him. I suffer

bound by the circle of time.

 

In dreams he appears to me

as if alive again, bearing stories.

As I search for him he disappears

like a mirage, complaining

that I had forgotten him.

 

How can I forget your memory?

Where will I search for the imprint

of your life?  Are you not my own life?

 

Your final words still echo in my ears.

I melt into tears along with the traces

of your memory.

 

• K. Pommai  - (translated by Shash Trevett)

 

 

Dreams become Mirages

A warscape. People on the move,

empty handed.

Hunger, thirst, fear.

 

Under a tree. Rain.

Hair stands on end.

Sleepless life in a camp.

 

In our own land

refugees.

Drinking water, rainwater.

 

Illangai, India, soldiers

atrocities.

The Tamil people in shackles.

 

Cluster bombs, bunkers.

Covered corpses.

Pieces of flesh hanging off trees.

 

The maimed, loved ones

those who suffer loss

bodies bearing bullets.

 

A slow death.

Prisoners.

Dreams become mirages.

 

• Sara  - (translated  by Shash Trevett)

 

 

My Heart Boils

In our life tragedy surrounds us

like an unstoppable spring.

The memory of our fallen heroes

who once burned bright

forever troubles us.

 

To those protectors who formed a bulwark

around our lives and culture

our minds humbly seek to give thanks.

 

In the purifying wind which flowed

with their strength, we glimpsed

visions of the beloved land.

How can we forget this?

 

The ache of those whose loved ones

had been made to disappear

by the actions of traitors.

When I hear people say ‘Tamils,

be careful’, my ears burst open.

 

The Tamils who welcomed all who came

among them, have lost their land.

My heart boils in torment.

 

• Sara  - (translated  by Shash Trevett)

 

 

My Wish

To see again with joy the face I knew

in my mother’s womb.

 

To wake again to a new day

amidst the uncertainties of this life.

 

To repay those who welcomed my birth with tears

with teardrops of my own at their death.

 

To believe that you will return in the darkness

as I sleeplessly wait for you.

 

To wake each day believing

that the tears of the night were but a dream.

 

To speak till my death the language

I learnt in my youth;

 

these are my wishes.

 

• Sri Devi   -(translated  by Shash Trevett)

 

 

Moonlit Hope

Hope is a life lived among flowers

even though not all contain nectar.

Hope is the sound of anklets

on moonlit paths, even though some

remain hidden in darkness.

 

Hope is the song of a happy mind

the smiling face of gentle speech.

Hope is today’s joy stamping

on tomorrow’s sorrows.

Hope is sharing the laughter of others

while searching for happiness in your dreams.

 

Hope is the lotus blooming at the touch

of moonlight, fish leaping in play in ponds.

Hope is the sight of a sleeping river

and the sound of nature’s quiet laughter.

Hope is blemish free, shining

like the full moon, or a mother’s face.

 

• The Friday Poets: (translated by Shash Trevett)