Colombo, Media and Communications, Poetry

umbrella over bird

for prageeth eknaligoda


we didn’t know we
stopped: the
undoing doing
its disappearing
the man himself
gone. what
to do? muttering him
through corners, hyde
park; lincoln
immemorial; where we
said speakers should
stand; silver shadow
moves for
coins in times
squared, because we
cannot hold the
hands of clocks.
which hand tips
land’s hat
into sea?—shriek
your bids; speak freely
in kingdoms
measured carefully
suns shining. no rain
they say: still, insist
on umbrella over bird,
though feathers fall
fallow, shedding wings
widowed, shorn
but not shamed.

under wings, through
windows, hold the hands of
to draw
himself to draw
, and
once more, upon an
anthem now:
light us from the inside
out, on the face of the galle
clock green with
time: the salt marching
up from the sea,
our wounds filling
with it.