Temporary white flags have been gathered
and yet in a corner of the mind a terrible loneliness
when now and again the eyes close
you still come to mind Indika
Is memory amenable to cut-and-paste
of searching for ourselves over wine
of a debate heated and yet rolled out with love
when amid cataracts lie hidden the lotus that bloomed ?
In a moment by the hands of a clock narrated
all this will come to a stop by and by
this is known and very well too, and yet
machang, it is so hard on the heart.
[Translation of Wimal Ketapearachchi's poem 'Indika']
