Last Station

Does someone
turn back time from 9.25 am
bidding the enraged
dark waves to return to
some unseen abyss,
long away from the shore,
as a telephone rings ceaselessly,

November

Gloriosa
Once uprooted
Sprouts wings ...
Flame lily
Sheds petals
With the fleeting red.....
Sorrow itself

From Babi Yar to Mullivaikkal

"Here all things scream silently,
and, baring my head,
slowly I feel myself
turning grey.

And I my self
am one massive, soundless scream

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

I would photograph scars

I would photograph scars.

If only I had my old Nikon,
and a lion’s marigold skin,
I would camouflage there
to photograph scarred silence,
the silence of war.

To the Dandelion

Now we make you suffer and will bury you alive
in her bosom’s chasm mother earth keeps.
And we burn the earth, not letting you survive.
Will you own her bosom?

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......

left

Journalists for Democracy in Sri Lanka

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