Expatriates
remind me of Malayalees
Going to the Middle
East in search of riches
From my lush
green state of Kerala, And
work their souls
out in the desert heat
They save every
dinar or riyal they could
And send it to
their families every month
They miss every
event in their family
Letters were the
lifeline for information
Only heard the
voices of the loved ones
From a telephone
in the neighbourhood
They could visit
home only once in two or
three years, They
come with big bags
and boxes, Full
of gifts for almost entire
the village, They
return with a heavy heart,
Chasing more
money to build a new home
And fulfil the
dreams of their loved ones
Those men, their
blood, and their sweat
Changed the
fortune of millions of lives
