Spiralling downward
there is no solid ground beneath

bodies turn up
in marshes
on street corners
hands tied
shot dead
burnt beyond recognition

the living
those left behind
frail old bodies
fathers, mothers, aunts, grandparents
burying the young
earth shattering sighs

the red cross volunteers are dead
no one knows why
tamil tears
tamil fears
tastes of salt
soldiers on the battlefield
dying young
sinhala tears
sinhala fears
tastes of salt

smells like, feels like
those formative years again
the late eighties
will I end my days with this?

Spiralling downward
There is no solid ground beneath……

Sashikala Premawardhane

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