Sundari

Twenty-six years have passed.
Our first meeting,
North of Colombo,
a house on the beach.
flowers and creepers;
Beyond the fence,
fearful and shy

Yet Another Incident in July 1983

Burying the dead
being an art well developed in our times
(our psycho-analysts have helped us much
to keep balanced minds--whatever
that may mean--) there is no......

Auschwitz from Colombo

Colombo. March. The city white fire
That pours through vehement trees burst into flame,
And only a faint but nearing wind
Stirring the dust
From relics of foreign invaders, thrown

Gutted

Gutted houses
Gutted lives
Charred wood
Charred flesh
Shattered brick
Shattered glass
Hammer blows of fists

The Window of the Present

Nightmares, long dead,
Peer through the shattered panes of the
Window of the present.

The dead of the south, killed on the streets,

Forgetting

We can forget all;
spurning the loss
of this miserable life,
with the confidence
sparked in a moment;
along the Galle road,
we race

Animal Crackers

"Draw me a lion."
So I set my pen
to work. Produce a lazy, kindly beast....
Colour it yellow.

"Does it bite?"
"Sometimes,

left

Journalists for Democracy in Sri Lanka

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