your loss tastes like
newspapers
soaked in blood for breakfast
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)
to eliminate you they had
cattle-prods)
deafness to a decade’s
screaming
a strangling of leads
leading nowhere
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.)
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