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The last page of
Ashok’s novel is moving.
I turn that last page over.
I lay the book on the floor; aside.

When you say that
You can’t love me all less for this world,
That to you I mean nothing,
Something that was inside of me closed eyes, slowly cried.

This can’t go on; this is
Indignant and purple craving for flesh
Sweat, saliva and sufference.
And being different inside; sporting surface indifference.

Losing out is some clichetic perfected art.
That final ambush of the impulsive heart
And a wasted hay-stack of words and justification
Which, had been used with sense, may have built the nation.


2 thoughts on “Unfulfillments

    Malinda Seneviratne said:
    May 7, 2010 at 8:25 am

    nations get built brother, in the midst of waste. 🙂 like the economy…it grows, in spite of Cabraal.

    but this stuff…is great.

    Vihanga responded:
    May 7, 2010 at 1:31 pm

    umbata “nation” kiyana vachane dhakkama maara kichi nedha? I mean, after all…

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