The Doctor

He was born during the Black of July,
Raised during the JVP up-rise,
During the war, he went to school
His dad he lost, in a train bombing too soon.

His mother slaved herself giving tuition,
A public-school teacher she was,
She made sweet treats during the night,
And had them sold in a shop next to a bus depot.

The Lies They Told

For many years, she searched,
Searched to find the mountain ,
The mountain of victory, the one that she set out ,
In search of a vision, a perspective from atop.

One night, tired and weary, she cried out,
In total abandon, to end the climb
A sore heart that never saw the promises realized ,
She wept in the forest , amongst Kapoc and Fig.


One day I stopped looking for you,
I was too tired of reading the great books
The quotes of the mighty sages
The poems of the prophets, and
And commentaries of the wise

I was tired of living the good and the bad
Wishing I would meet you in a lover’s eyes
The accolades from the prestigious schools
A respected career, in the service to your people
In daily living, in giving back and paying forward


In the solitude of the night
I obsessed about you
You know, everything about you
Your smell and stride and bubbly highs.

Everyone has their weakness,
And everyone knows that mine is you.

This infatuation is infuriating
I have no space in my mind,
Every ounce of my awakened day,
Absorbed in reliving your smile.


The wound that is slow to heal,
A once dormant microbe suddenly active,
My nail is out, they removed it with no anesthesia
As if I had a top secret, a criminal, a terrorist from afar.

Why does this wound not go away,
A screaming agony from inside,
Impeding mobility, speed, and balance,
Three months now and endless painkillers.