vihanga perera poetry
It disintegrated beyond recovery
And we are strangers now
Once again, as we were when we met:
Nursing ourselves for another day in life,
Scuttling among petty kicks we regret.
Ironing a shirt, lengthwise — arms first –,
parting the hair there where it is set
To be parted — now well creased — that even the
Turbulence of sex would not unsettle that perpetual creasing.
Rinse. Wash. Flush the toilet.
Look at my stride as I walk:
It is even, it is smooth, it is virile
Even while the edges cut against my skin.
I greet your face as you face to greet me
And casually say ‘how?’, concerned about my suffering.
I stare at the buttonless man, the big-bummed vehicle,
The emission of gas — think how
The glaciers trickle to dust. The gregarious build
Of the dangling many-fold woman and the many firm eyes
That to follow her must.
They follow their dreams — I follow my shadow
As it precedes me, as the sun falls on my back,
Urging me on. Pushing me down the road
And the screen only has a missed call that I miss
From a pathetic piece of flesh with whom I am bored.
12 lines I had written, even paced,
I, confused, dismayed, on a certain night
Recover by the flicker of a candle light
And I wonder whet
Lives end, begin
In the same less, effortless moment. Within,
Unheard, something stirs, some unrepresented
Stammer of a wordless thing. In your arms you hold me
Without a word to remember
That the world, where it spins, will
Kill me to mend her. On a powder keg
At the foot of a stairway we stand,
Balancing in a kiss the notion of passion,
Powerful explosion. On a powder keg we stand
In metaphor relating to conflict which
Caused the census many lives; lives lost
Without consensus and the luck which fate deprives
The unlucky. This world is mine, say, this world is mine,
When the world collapses into me without gravity.
It is rain outside, where I write this, the window
Shows me blurring reality that blur away from sight.
Thunder claps on hills far away and a mist veils-unveils the
Lamp light from searching eyes. You’re a truth to me
Where life truth denies
I find a note book in which I have sketched a verse,
12 lines out of love at a time
Where I had not even yet begun to love you. They rhyme
Of pre-historic ripples, anxiously put to time and place.
I love you yet, anyways. In another country from this love; embrace.