Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Yesterday, I saw a stranger in the mirror

When did I start looking this sad

I started crying, so turned my back to the wall

There's just so much ugliness one can take in a day

Dissent

Word of the day: Dissent

Disagreement with the philosophy, methods, goals, etc. of a political party or government

They say the aragalaya is dead or distracted

Far from reaching its goal of sending Gota home

And perhaps Galle Face is no more a Gama

But a sparsely populated desert, tents still erect

But you will still hear a voice screaming into a microphone

Protest chants that fill the air

Mixing with the salt of the ocean and tears of desperation

A struggle exhausted, but unrelenting

And one may criticise the apathy

The lack of participation

The disintegration of dissent

And from them, we must ask if they do not hear

The wails of a woman who watched her husband fall dead to the ground

After standing in line for days hoping for fuel, praying for kerosene

The anguish of a father who holds the lifeless body of his child

Who died because they couldn't get to a hospital in time

(And one wonders if there would have been a point in going to

A hospital with no medicine and no staff and no electricity)

The sighs of exhaustion, beads of sweat

Of men and women, young and old, packed into buses and trains

Praying it doesn't rain, hoping the streets are not in darkness

Knowing the money in their wallet would only get them through a meal at most

(But what does one do with rotting vegetables, weevil-infested rice

When there is no gas to cook a simple curry or two)

And as we are stripped of what little joy, what little hope we had

As we listen to lie after lie, promises of better days to come

If only we can get through the toughest of weeks that never seem to end

They sit in their air-conditioned rooms, fill their stomachs with the finest food

Laugh and joke about the sorry state of affairs in the country they set fire to

Not a thought given to anyone but themselves

Choice

I left the door open, sure,

But it is you who chose to leave

Best day of her life

Somewhere on the internet there is an album

Pictures from the best day of her life and one day

You will come across it and perhaps by then you would know

Or maybe it'll take you by surprise and you will hate us all

For not telling you about it, for letting this thing happen

You will go through the pictures, hoping to find in his face

A morsel of sadness, reluctance, a need to flee, run while he still could

Instead a smile, laughter, happiness, even

And it will break you in a way you never thought possible

It will feel like the worst pain you've felt in a long time

Her white sari, his grey suit, their poruwa, first dance

A newly married couple on the best day of their life

Almost mocking you from the screen

love.

Word of the day: inamorata

a woman who loves or is loved; female sweetheart or lover

Sometimes I fantasize about being a woman who loves and is loved

Coming home to kindness and warmth, a cup of tea waiting on the kitchen counter

Chicken in the oven, pasta boiling in a pot

Outside, the setting sun turns everything golden, ethereal

The bills are paid, the groceries done, the bed made and the wine chilled

A quiet existence, where voices aren't raised, fists aren't tightened

A love that is selfish, where the give and take isn't 50-50

Where one act doesn't have to be countered with an act of similar effort

Where you love in the way you know how to, and I do the way I know best

turn back time

would there even be an us

-as brief as it was-

if i hadn't been drunk that one night

and made the first move?

would we have had those handful of good days

now tainted by the faintest shade of grief

if i had been sober and you

still unsure?

let's get straight to it

Word of the day: hokum

out-and-out nonsense; bunkum

You say something about someone that I struggle to follow

Because all I can think about are your lips and how they feel when we kiss

We laugh at the end of it, and I have to stop myself from walking over to you

Instead I counter your story with something else about someone else

None of this matters, really, we are just trying to sound interesting or smart

Or funny or whatever else, even though none of it will play a part in how this night ends

Because we both know that soon

We will tire of the irrelevant, the stalling, and close this space between us

nocturnal

Word of the day: caterwaul

to utter a long, wailing cry; howl or screech

We are strangers to the sun, to daylight

They don't know what our faces look like

Almost like vampires, we only meet

When the moon is out, and stars light up the sky

In the early hours of the morning,

When cats wail and rats scurry across floors

We share stories from years ago

And laugh about the joke our lives have become

Somewhere between emptying glasses and bottles

And the tiredness that slowly creeps in

We find something for ourselves

That only the nighttime seems to bring

Maybe someday

we will look back at these days

with so much fondness, as if the bad, the ugly

never happened

you'll be married then, content,

and I will find so much joy in seeing you

doting over someone, even though that someone isn't me

and we will talk about our past with those who weren't

part of it without giving even a hint that

there was anything else between us

except friendship that made it through the years

and we will laugh at the silly things we did

the grand plans we had of conquering the world

the cheap wine we drank, songs we sang along to

and at the end of the night, as we say our goodbyes

we would hesitate

and linger for a second too long

and wonder what it would be like

if this home, this life, was ours

cows and pigs

Word of the day: Piebald

having patches of black and white or of other colours; parti-coloured

Somewhere a cow grazes a field

and a child asks his mother

why the sky is blue and birds can fly

but why not pigs and why not us

and the mother tells him to hurry along now

stop looking at the cow and asking questions

about why it is black and white

and not brown like the others

they had just walked past

and the child hurries along

walking around a puddle in the middle of the road

and not jumping right into it like he would have

if only he had been alone

and the mother lets out a sigh relief

because she now doesn't have to

wash mud-stained clothes when they

get home and can instead

put the groceries away and get started on dinner