These pinks from long ago
so fresh, so ancient,
brings back a day,
a month, a year
February 22, 1987.
Today, a bouquet for love's innocence
but for me,
a funeral wreath.
so fresh, so ancient,
brings back a day,
a month, a year
February 22, 1987.
Today, a bouquet for love's innocence
but for me,
a funeral wreath.
Twenty one years
is nothing for the sun
for me, a century;
a time that the colours of Peradeniya
will not let me forget.
is nothing for the sun
for me, a century;
a time that the colours of Peradeniya
will not let me forget.
[from the collection 'The Underside of Silence,' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2008]
This is beautiful.
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