May we pass brother? But are you one of us! Or someone other? Roving eyes survey thus Taking girls home from work, Quietly I mutter, Don’t you have sisters too— Words I dare not utter. Rod in hand he twirls Peers down at the girls They of diverse race and creed But united in the hour of need Girls huddled in the car All similar pensive faces None with Pottu or Thaali, Those give away traces See bro, they come from far Buses not running… blah, blah! The accent must ring true, So I keep talking through. Got petrol in a tin can? No, there’s some in tank No time to syphon, man Says Tarzan at my flank Now that I’ve passed his test Tarzan is my friend best Clear from the road you! This car must go through Shops ablaze and shattered glass Tarzan back at the helm yelling Unruffled mates loading hand carts Charred remnants of a once dwelling Although you made your call Thinking we were of one feather, Colombo burned around us all, When you let us pass, my brother. Niranjan Selvadurai Context: This poem recalls an encounter from Monday, 25 July 1983, the first day of the violence later known as Black July in Sri Lanka. As Colombo descended into chaos, the narrator and a friend tried to drive several young women home from work but were stopped by a mob near Town Hall. In that moment, language, accent, and cultural markers became their only protection, determining whether they would be allowed to pass.