Quiet footfall of zephyr
At this base of white
evening lines come in a quiet
Eyes open, undulating stones warm the ancients
light meditations in
a chiaroscuro of hope.
Peace comes easy here, for now,
after uneasy undercurrents have shifted
white and saffron interplay.
To imagine peace, what memory chains
to escape crimson strokes
and see inside out on silhouette tracings
What we really are.
To imagine a time when a tiny hand in mine,
her smell, a father’s cooking, a mother’s embrace,
the lightest brush of skin
breath of one’s nape
tongue flicks of desire.
Our ordered lives, this order of life,
to imagine as different requires
no accident, no hero. No patriot
commands or paltry gods.
No enfilade must disturb, no cerise cuts
must mar peace anew.
Imagine, to imagine peace!
Would it be any different, really? Would we be, any different?
wounds erased, sounds faded
Leave now, yet remember this hope, this moment,
this imagined peace and its warm embrace
against looming shadows
[Written for Saskia Fernando Gallery exhibit at the Colombo Art Biennale, 10 – 14 September 2009]