How everything lookslike flash lineswhen I see througha train window.The ship that sails far awayhow it lookseven smaller than a heart.The way you give in,roll incrushand lie downinside my heartnaturally,even without seeing you for months.I like your hairgoing up,a jarring surprise.
Pic by Tai Hsin ShiekThere is a trickthat sun does.It kisses us every dawnand pinches in its gradual fall.The orange when cut turns redlike heart thread chiseling.To know about being 6 twice a dayand to see how things end.Its a 24/7 thing.
A rudiment of birthinga residue collectorit is soil for seedand way for the rootPic source : Internetit is river after overflowa strand for the pounding sea waveit is a silicon made receptora tear gathererit is home for the falling leafresidence for catacombit is map for the ocean floor,the desserts , the Gangeseven Rockies cone.A plot for berryman walkand country called ...
Around this time last year, Udan Fernando, a critic and an analyst of all sorts requested me to translate his first collection of poems. I'm not a pro when it comes to translating poems. I did the best I could. 01. Warmth Knock! Knock! Knock!Wait a bitWho’s this?It’s me Here to check your tempGive me a minute?I’ll get into my ...
When words can't speak, people write. Words just don't fall. They are a product of histories, a lot of thoughts and journeys. For the writer or the lyricist, words are gems. It is like a gemstone miner stirring the river bed to find a gem. To those who have known the struggle, there's nothing more joyful as finding one. ...
I am accident-proneOccasionally break things Drop a water glass Knock a plate on the sink wall-I'm clumsy.I calculate answers properlybut forget to keep the decimal point. Type documents and close them without saving.Spill tea in practiced carelessness.Misspell a word or miss a word when typing.Sometimes Ihurt you-scratch you-scrape you unthinkingly. But in all that there's love.
Years ago, while at school I was called off for a Guides’ meeting. All guides at Musaeus College met at the senior Reference Library for whatever they had to discuss or do. That, the senior reference library is a place full of memories for every Guide in Musaeus College .No doubt. And for someone like me , it wasn’t only ...
I slip on a ripe mangopicked by sky creaturesA yellow juice oozesCuts through soft sandGrinds to a fine turmeric powder.This wayA dead mangoyields new life.And that way,we too must get crushed, trampled and slipped over.Only thenwe rejuvenate.
You are a deviland a goat at the sametime.- a devil goat infactYou are devilyou cut my heart with sore wordsstoke fire in methrow stones from a topto disapprove.You are a goateverytime I say 'yes'you say 'nay'a million times.A devil goat infactI scarce leftand loved so much
Flip sides of the ventriclesthrow away all its precious veins suck bloodundo all the sweetness in combustion,oxygen-free.Short of breath.Turn the pink fleshto roast chicken.And have no record of softness in cloud,the teardrop pattern.In doing this,somewhere words pierce the heart and one dies.In this way someone in your life talks out loveand leave your company .This is how it is ,Our ...
Taken from Sunila Wila by Pushkara Wanniarachchi Years ago , somewhere in December I found a house seat in the indoor hall of Maharagama Youth Center. It rained butterflies that evening. 6.00 pm. There were a mass of people outside , crowded around the entrance. Many had to go back .I overheard some one saying; Tickets were over. I managed ...
I'm an ex-citizen of your heartbarred from entryand of denied visa.Berlin Artparasites But often I get home sick.How many blue waves do I have to tear upto sail back to you?Is it an iron made heart you gotto become oblivion of me?Or did thoughts of love in your heartfall into extinct volcanoes?
In my career as a Freelance Journalist , for nearly one and half years I wrote for the kids' and youth sections of the Nation newspaper which I enjoyed thoroughly . When I moved to Daily News I couldn't publish a few that I had already written for The Nation. This particular story was one of them. I am delighted ...
Source : Berlin ArtParasitesThere is nothing I would forget.Your bright eyes that squinch,in an air conditioned room,the way you wear your blue shirt.how gaze turns into blood rush,how words fall out beneath youbut there are heart rapids of yoursI have not touchedand longing for.
Pic Source: InternetA couple of years ago an article in Irida Divaina taught me that a work of art , be it a poem , song or whatever doesn’t entirely belong to the creator. Once it is given, it’s owned by the recipient. It’s the recipient’s song. Thereafter. It seems that there is no writer or musician behind most of ...
I sit in the eye of lighta chunk of darkness,a bulb, a filament,as a piece of half - lightsneaks throughthe -far -away kos gaha.I watch how you find way to my heart,how you have put off,dark , tall , the fleshy nose-generous and sensitivea rare fragrance,the sky -blue shirt,so handsome you areagain and again.
Pic source :InternetYou must be the sunlight;one that glitters silver on wiresolstice Pacific turn rib clouds orange that moves broken in the mango treeand drops like a pawturns scratch into crimsonand drown them in my skin.
In my career as a Freelance Journalist , for nearly one and half years I wrote for the kids' and youth sections of the Nation newspaper which I enjoyed thoroughly . When I moved to Daily News I couldn't publish a few that I had already written for The Nation. This particular story was one of them. I am delighted ...
