whore

whenever someone sets out to break me,
their intentions so transparent,
I look to you

an army of beggars, amateurs,
tongues tripping
on stock phrases

"you’re so beautiful";
"I want you now";
"I love you"

it takes a halfwit to fall for it,
this parade of hands reaching out
to take, take, take!

hungry mouths spilling out
so much flattery, it stinks in the streets
saccharine sweet

then, unfailingly, the parade of accusations
weak men forever shouting
'WHORE'

they think I care,
they think they burn me,
I, who have felt nothing after you

rebirth

reel it all back in,
those feelings you poured into us
these past months

fill yourself up again
with your illusions, leave me empty
of your word vomit

did you think I would beg?
did you think I would weep?
did you think I would even blink?

you do me
a disservice
with these imaginings

I have been buried too many times
to be eviscerated
by one more ending

I will resurrect myself just fine

Losing Lasantha

your loss tastes like

newspapers

soaked in blood for breakfast

newsprint gathering dust in darkness

printing presses silenced by State machinery

windshield glass mixed with sand
spent bullets trampled into the dirt

(the bullets didn't break your body or brain:
to eliminate you they had
cattle-prods)

deafness to a decade’s screaming

a strangling of leads
leading nowhere

ink rendered invisible

your silenced laughter

spilling into the earth

forebodings of what would follow

with Kilinochchi withdrawal

Elephant Pass abandonment

the weight of all those doctors

bearing down on you

to bring you back

the names of those

who wanted you dead

still laughing

printing in reverse

unchewed pens

tears.

(8 January 2019 marks 10 years since Lasantha was assassinated.)

futile

don't mind me
I'm just waiting
for the world 
to stop breaking
all the women 
it births