Over the river we go, we row, to sow then grow. They’ll try to tame what is feral, to dry what drips. But beloved: cry, cleanse, flow. They stay thirsty, greedy drinking from the tap of domination. And as they look to the sky, they cannot even read it for rain. We are offshore, we are onshore and they should be sure that this time, we came as the river, but next time we’ll be the typhoon.
A2 420 x 594mm
proceeds from your purchase will be directed to the International Dalit Solidarity Network