There is a blue patch of sky above my heart under which I walk beside you, clad in dirty white, holding your little finger, smiling. There are moments when I count countless stars in the galaxy of your eyes seeing the universe in tiny bits and pieces of your smiles, picking up pebbles hugging the wind as the child with ...

I lie awake, on the finest sand of memories, left from the leftovers of love, banned and banished from your heart, resting in peace and pieces. I lie awake, like the silent symphony of the ocean like the muted songs of birds like the grief of the breeze that often go unheard and unnoticed, not knowing how and why. I ...

And then it rained. I walked passing the half-hearted bridge of time, the roundabout of memories and turned right from the junction of rationality trampling the flowers of the past and the green grass of soft-spoken words lying asleep and scattered. I walked on, on and on, like the tranquility of solitude in the vicinity of gaze and poetry, and ...

“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you;” – Isaiah 66:13 “How much do I owe you?” you asked and I said nothing because I owed you more. I owe you poetry, -soft, soothing and happy- to caress your hair like the wind when your mind is haunted by him. I owe you tears -happy, sad and ...

Absence  has a way of falling when the tiny green drop of your presence is missing; it has a way of raining. way of embracing; softly, like early morning flowers, nondescript, on damp roads, waiting to be kissed by passing feet, now and then   Absence then is a forbidden way of falling in love  lent and borrowed by blue ...

Eye is a language, not of words, nor of thoughts, but of endless magic that makes my fingers stray on the streets of your cheeks and stops my heart wickedly at the tender blockade of eyelids: Eye is a language not of beauty nor of pain but of beautiful pain of love that pinches mind-cells subtly with soft little fingers ...

There is grammar in love and syntax too, hidden in lines like a phantom, hard to find hard to follow There are clauses main and subordinate, conjunctions conjuring up spatial relationships between subjects and objects of love. And then there are tenses past, present and future damp with the moisture of nostalgia and flow with ease along the veranda way ...

Mist must have a language, wordless, impalpable and soft, as soft as the face of a lost friend who smiled smiled and smiled in passing. Mist must have a colour as white as the whiteness that slips out of a poya night, untouched like a prayer that gets lost in the sky’s infinity, and uninviting like death. Mist must be ...

There are no-rule zones, where you don’t see inhibitions or un-inhibitions instructions or restrictions or jurisdictions. Crossable, they are, like fingers words and hearts. There are no-rule zones where safe passage is ensured, crossings that no one crosses, blank, they are, like blank papers, white walls and certain eyes. * * * ( Dickmens Road, Colombo, 20.12.2012 )

This December is like me. Cold, as usual, runny nose, cough and headache every other night, late night disappearances and put-a-shots, raindrops here and there on the long roads of loneliness, occasional texts and strangers like swirls of smoke, This December is like me, nothing very special, like the melancholy of a violin playing Christmas carols and the monotony of ...

I will let you grow molecule by molecule like a dream on the first night of December. I will let you walk in the dark, cloaked in the paleness of moonlight. I will let you wait, alone, on a busy street of memories, like a tower, tall and silent. I want you to stay close like the breeze; and be distant like the sky. So, be patient Phantasmagoria. * * * ( Rasika Jayakody 02/12/2012 )

How many raindrops do you see in the line - “in a relationship”? How many waves that rise and brawl how many leaves that dance and fall? How many words do you see in the line - “in a relationship”? Words that are yet to be written and deciphered.. How many people do you see in the line - “in ...

If and when we meet again you will see nothing in my eyes. No sign of love no scar of pain no spark of lust. You will not see my long gazes repetitive phrases infinitesimal verses. There will be no past to recall no present to remain no future to rebound. You will just see nothing but nothingness that longs for you. * * * ( Rasika Jayakody 24.11.2012 )

Scattered thoughts from here and there decorated the tiny table at which we sat last night. We never spoke of Gibran, Neruda, Pushkin, Rain, Wind or Earth. I knew you were tired with the strange game called love: So was I, All we needed was silence, space, kindness and tenderness. A little bit of soft imprisonment extracts from old tales ...

Rain is a deft-fingered flower arranger. It is the music of a snake charmer that lingers on and on and on. The sky’s renunciation. The earth’s embracement. Rain is a wet cloth, a muddy shoe and a short text. The dawn of the twilight and the twilight of the dawn. Sometimes it is the opening note of a love song ...

“I don’t drive, So.. You will have to,” I laid out my first condition on that small coffee table and you responded with a willing smile. Then it was your turn. “I can cook very well, you know.. that is what I enjoy most. But you’ll have to get used to my untidiness, indecisiveness and madness, generally. I may not ...

Let names be abbreviations and memories cascade. May wounds of not-keeping-in-touch persist and tiny bits and pieces of intimacy stand in the middle. Let there be contours conjunctions and intersections- cross words and cross roads, love – silence – and love. I may let you go. true. I am the sunset. But you have to return, Sunrise! Reunion is a ...

Luminescence of morning’s raiment and whiteness of midnight prayers Incarceration of knitted fingers and warmth of fingertip kisses Entanglement of a soft embrace and transience of time and space Reluctance of the footsteps of a snail and signature of distance and pain Transcendence of a momentary smile and love’s faith in sanda kinduru eyes * * * ( Rasika Jayakody 13.10.2012 )

The azure of the October sky the wit of a newsroom chat the breath of a newly born plant the scent of a butterfly lip, what else can you give me? what else can I give you? The delicacy of a grain of sand the redness of a morning lipstick the freedom of an evening stroll the nocturne of late ...

There is a moment of visibility when you see the unseen bonds of twines and fingers against the green heart of the paddy and the blue eye of the sky. There is a moment of inevitability when the spectrum of colours and the silhouette of silvery grey dissolves into the bliss of the breeze. There is an evening when every ...