Time is the Healer.
Time heals wounds, heals scars,
Heals memory, heals
This man now has no melody:
Just a slogan at protests,
Like the cry against hunger and the
Anger of the State; like the cry for more employment,
The need for tolerance and the like,
He is a thin stripe on the front page of “Lanka”,
Which reminds us the time elapsed
Since he was “taken” (by the Air).
Oh, no: he is just a mongrel on the road:
Him a journalist? Oh, shoot, don’t
Tickle my ass. He is just one — just one —
Just a “private petition”. Sri Lanka is a nation with
People with worse problems.
Where is he? I mean, Time will heal,
Maybe one morning he will return.
Maybe he is already decomposing.
Maybe he will be the next MIA.
Don’t worry — Time will heal.
Time has healed thus the absence of many.
Time has never failed.
Time asks for no accountability.
Time is ayurvedic. Does it
The indigenous way.
We’ve stopped worrying about this Prageeth.
A numbskull, all the same:
Just 46 chromosomes and a bitta knowledge.
Just a family and two shitty kids.
Wife is just another woman.
Some non-mainstream fucking stringer.
Some non-patriotic deal.
Time will heal.
People are crazy, making him into a fetish
That human rights are fucked up.
I had so many friends about a year ago
Who posted Malinda’s links on my FB.
Argued with me when I said war ain’t right.
Sent me invitations to join the group to honour
Captain Mohan Sri Jayalal.
That was the height of their patriotism,
My motherfucking friends. Some still
Post Malinda, mercenary pen in hand,
Aiming his tarot at David Milliband.
Conscience is not his employer.