I listened to Parvathi, Premini,
Mrs. Kamala and Muller
And to the chittering of a house
That grew duller and duller.
Different, but we had egos
A room barely would hold.
But underneath inconsistency
Our hearts were of gold.
I listen as Sri Lanka leisurely
Witness its bards
And either they are all motherfucking patient
Or else they’re retards.
Just that I ain’t gonna be a hit
And got not many enemies to make.
So, let this in all poetic minds
Vengeful acceptance take.