morning...

Amma's hands trembled as she typed the single word into her phone. "Morning..." She'd discovered this app only last month, a digital gathering where Tamil voices echoed across continents. Her grandson had shown her how. Today felt different. Yesterday, her poem—written decades ago, forgotten in yellowed notebooks—had been shared by someone in Singapore. Then Toronto. Then London. Strangers were reading her words. Tamil words. Her words. The screen glowed warm in the predawn darkness. By evening, her inbox overflowed with messages from the diaspora, people hungry for stories rooted in their mother tongue. She wasn't just remembered; she was finally, truly, heard.