Dead bodies of women from Milton quote
And in search of a water to hold my boat
Like lumber, do not lose my number.
In my mask-like face impulses split.
We’re uncertain; friends ask me whom to vote.
Long ago I thought, in a long ago thought
That life will be easy. Life will reward me good.
That the lines fate draws would be understood.
If I could I should, they say, leave her behind,
Leave the country behind, waive memory off
But I die a bit even as she’d cough. Or laugh
When I say I’m the fool, that I should go
And Kanye West says if you really care
Not to hit the air; not to follow your dreams
It seems like a year ago when the war was stilled
And the hearth was lit as a kerosene cooker
Where sauce would be laid on Opinion grilled.
Will this war go on, then? Would our children bleed
The woe that precedes, supersedes the deed?
I know, where the nations go
There holds no ground for personal woe.
Would you listen to me, then, if I tell my story?
I am at Peradeniya campus
To watch the acorns grow. To see
The models that they grow to be
Talk to me.
She knows, Peradeniya,
That the good ones will return
To write in medias res, an epic if not an ode
The pan-Peradeniya tree gods
Flower, those yellow exotic flowers
Fall 26 every hour, like a blessing on
Every blessed lover that sits by the woods
Under cover. And I
Watch from where the watchtower ends
And reflect on days when dreaded friends
Said hi to me, among more sincere mates.
My conscience unconsciously constipates.
You’re no paradise, Pera, just a refugee camp
For a complex of baggage that missed the stamp.
You watch with the gods and the trees and the rest
As life, like life, switches blades. Tonight
Another soul is made another life is ended
I thank myself. But I know I pretended.
I saw Wimal Weerawansa’s hoardings
And I snapped the talisman off my throat.
It is not he, it is me
The fucking talisman of the nation.
He’s a tailsman, alright,
But how lousy he mess up the spelling?
I thought I’d grow my stubble: AH Fowzie,
The common man’s Man, the superannuated.
But, should I colour it white, cos it’ll be just for one night?
Should I use lacer or chalk, find a lime quarry to plunge it?
Or, on second thoughts, just leave it black
Green flag, O’ Green flag, in this green city of Kandy
Where you gone hiding true blue?
We think of you. Even at times when your list looks
Unreal, unreal city — we think of you.
No masterblaster or spinners, but a wretched band of sinners
Trying to wash away the sins of a nation true blue.
When the time, at last, comes for gentler souls
Their souls would have whithered with age and strain
And that spirit would, by then, be slain. O’ unreal vote,
Will you vote for me and not, by God,
For Democracy? You have no power, you piece of paper;
Make noise for the next best public draper.