Shun, don’t constitute That house of men Where the drums throb, and war Rails against federation An old world which Bought us, but millions left before Our future called. Written for Tracy Holsinger, 8 November 2018.

[in the house of my father]

the burning he said started within and I didn’t understand but saw my own flames grow, till asked he said, finally love was to blame I saw then the smell of old cotton, worn now to threadbare emotions, spent to realise that it was not easy to disengage Now the sight of him a frail … Continue reading [in the house of my father]


My Rishi

The flames lick, Longing pricks Tenterhooks of love. But they burn too deep. Smile, look, the mind’s fertile touch. But to grasp, to reach is everything To the devil within that teases With a smile, a flick, a glance A touch, electrifying. But I yearn too deep. Something Sri Lankan at core That laugh delicate … Continue reading My Rishi


Hurrah! The victories won cast shadows in the dusk, Falling through words dissent dies. And we are alone. Hurrah! The heroes come home as we die, Cries of infants rail against hope while words of supine analytics Adorn the news. Statistically speaking, a majority supports this victory, 59.5% they say give or take a limb … Continue reading Desha-drohi

Night #1

Night #1 Dot the darkness Shadows alight Wet moonlight dribbles Like a harlot’s whispers A ribcage of delight. Outside splash A hue of green marks Where no one ventures For the fear is in the light While our shadows lurk beneath A cricket cadence beckons This night Young, wet, satiated Clamouring to say Enough So … Continue reading Night #1


Foil I was speaking today, a someone who said to me I said to her That I loved her once. Thought that I could love her again. The dance of that slow cadence The lips a faint touch of white Erect and frosty Tits. Not mine, would I have liked to be? It was not, … Continue reading Foil

Archchi’s radio

Those nights of wisdomWhen I new allBefore sleepThe static of muwan-palessaA story of infinite meaningUsed to awaken sleepCrackle, fizz, pop.The music of the knownIt’s own comfortA bosomOf invisible words through etherThat I long for again.Crackle, fizz, pop.Where is such music now?