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TELEPHONE CALL
by Cheran

We have raised up our white flags.

No sign yet
of the promised message
for which we wait.

Darkness spreads
even as the sun rises, slowly, slowly.
We look once more at our friends
who were denied the peace of a painless death
whose blood flows as they breathe their last.

Our satellite telephones will go with us
to the cremation ground, to the very end.
But this is my final call:

We must leave now.

(Note: this poem refers to a disputed incident that occurred during the final stages of the Sri Lankan civil war in May 2009.)