Colombo, Disaster Management, Poetry


I have never felt the
same about blue frothy waters and
ebb and tide
since learning how
your mild self could turn
and gush
hiss and spit
washing out her tomorrows, her
child, her home
Blue shimmering water is
now a memory of
a blue baby shirt,
the white sari that blows in the wind
as she feeds the crows and dogs on the
beach in their memory is the
colour of white sea foam…
The breeze that beguiles gulls and
suspends them in mid air is now the
a silence
of sadness that
cannot be stilled.