Thursday, January 24, 2013

A Sri Lankan's luck

Need a definition?
Luck is when you
Stand in the same spot
In crow crowded Colombo
For days and days
And never get shit upon
Luck is when
Not a single
Runny poop
Hits you on your head
Luck doesn't exist
Cause the crow,
He sits,
He shits,
It hits

Forever is made of nows

Forever is made of nows
I read somewhere
But each now stops
Being now so fast
The now I wrote
That first word
Is already
Lines into the past
Forever is a thought
A fragment of our
Forever is based on
And if tomorrow is
Based on the
Quickly becoming the past now
Then we have our selves a dilemma

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

the evening sea

the ocean was green
isn't it supposed to be blue?
the sky, grey
flirting with green
a great romance
the waves,
they were silver
'cause white waves are for daytime
silver  waves are for twilight


They carry the scent
Of cheap cigarettes
Not the stately pipes
Classy cigars
But cigarettes,no brand
No box, to hold them
Only their pockets
A lighter?
Not for these men
The soothing familiar sound
Matches dancing in the box
'A smoke, machang?'
One would ask
The sheepish smile
Like that of a child
'Yamu, yamu'
Lets go, he says
They go

Saturday, January 19, 2013


the days were good, back then
simple and full of happiness
smiles didnt mask pain
tears were a result of too much laughing
we grew up together
a bunch of kids
went through life as one,
not six
those were days of cricket, hide and seek
fishing for tadpoles in our pond
mango fights and 'ambarella' cricket
sharing food and secrets
a hug was enough to show love
a hug was enough to make us smile
those days were good
but those days are gone

Sunday, January 13, 2013

he hates, he hurts

he hates, but he hurts
he smiles, but he cries
he vows revenge,
but gives back a smile
he is like you and me,
stabbed, in pain
but he isnt alone
he knows love
he grieves, he gets up,
wipes away the dust
and smiles.
and makes the world
beautiful again

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Different people, different palms

The astrologer shook his head
Absent were any lucky shapes
Life line short
She took away her palm from his

He looked towards his house
Behind it the glistening sea
Only the shade of a few palms
To shelter him from the burning sun

Her tiny hand in his
Wrinkled and red
The newborn didn't see
The smile on his face
As he kissed the inside of her hand

Still red and stinging
From the slap
He looked from his palm to
His little girl
Still shocked as she walked away
Crying, hating