The Queen Returns

What were those years like

would she know,

those track-ripping times

of anger and contestation

the affirmation of history by disavowal

the claim for a plot

by planting of mine

the attempted liberation of a people

by the conferring of dismemberment?

Did she know that her roar

would be out-roared

the chug-chugging out-gunned

in multi-barrel ways

that black smoke turned blacker still?

Or did she wait

in the manner of the regal

for a time that had to come

when magazines emptied

could no longer be re-filled

in the inevitable emergency

of life after death after death after death?

When I am alone

“When I am alone I become my friend” – Sybil Wettasinghe

When I  am alone

A child comes running

along a nondescript niyara

wades across canal

holds my hand

drags me to king-coconut days

of play houses and roasted Jak seeds.

When alone

I walk from time to time

peer into eyes that have not aged

gather grandmother’s love

mother’s admonishment

and after fuss and tear their work have done

flop on chair or floor

they with their chores

and I in the circles of protective eyes.

When I am alone

I toss my passport into the Kelani Ganga

take flight from Hanwella

attend rallies and meetings

visit coffeeshop conversation

lovers and love-making

from before and after.

When I am alone

I roll like a pebble in a river

find traction in a bicycle chain

and wait for all the sunsets

I had missed. 

Comment 

Beasts and burdens

One on top
and the other below
in the do and obey
of karmic script
or chance births
growing to unhappy fates
each a prisoner
of burdens ordained
viccissitudes
that plague and plague
until the quelling
of order and submission
in some other land
some other time
later rather than sooner
as far as we can see.

[Inspired by the line drawing of Gamini Abeykoon]

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