Midnight man in Bambalapitiya: part 2

The neighborhood was drowning,

the clock has ordered marching but

the sun was already choking red;

it was too red, too late, to

peel off the standard paint

to regain ourselves again.


You were resolutely faded

seated, accepted, constructed

made up to meet the sane men.

You said that they fixed it,

beat it, stomped it and killed it

so that you could be

held back, one of them.


I wonder how I knew you

from all the dead men running to

get their hearts pulled out from their chests

just to belong, to have reasons well known,

because bleeding always makes

too much of a mess.    


Image - Misha Gordin

Image – Misha Gordin


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