My Digital Universe, Poems

Why be a rubber ball?

If life gets hard …

Be a rubber ball.


You can’t drown a rubber ball.

No matter how hard you try to drown it in water, it will pop back up.

If you try to smash it against a wall, it will bounce back – and if you are not ready for it, it might hit you in the face!

Reality check!

A rubber ball is pretty much indestructible.

Unless, one uses overwhelming force.

Using overwhelming force to destroy a rubber ball is absurd.

Lastly, a rubber ball is simple, uncomplicated, and lots of fun.

Kids love rubber balls.

Who doesn’t want to be loved?




My Digital Universe, Poems

Thoughts on Sri Lankan Independence Day


We received freedom?
Didn’t we always have it?
We decided to give it away –
Then struggled to get it back!
They got it on a piece of paper,
But never in their hearts.
They started fighting,
Instead of freedom, they spread hatred.
Little ones and old ones,
All born in the same paradise,
Looking for freedom,
As freedom burned in street corners.
We grew up in their mess.
We wanted out of there,
Now we long for paradise.
But they are still fighting?!
When will you stop?
Let us enjoy our paradise?
You have had your time.
And look where you have brought us!
We don’t want a king,
We don’t want your ideas,
We don’t want your hatred,
You can keep your freedom.
We don’t have those boundaries,
We don’t have jaded glasses,
We see each other as brothers and sisters,
Who suffered at your dependence.
Independence is freedom –
From dependence.
Dependence on your old ways.
An unfree mind will never be free!
We hope that it won’t
Take as many years for all to see,
The unity and the oneness,
Instead of the division and the otherness.
So that a new generation
That don’t have your poison,
Will join hands as one nation,
Away from your separation.
In – dependence of each other,
In- dependence of that unity,
In – dependence of that clarity,
Will celebrate independence, in-dependence.
Screen Shot 2016-02-03 at 6.40.48 PM

Leaves and the roots

When a leaf falls,
Swaying side to side,
Does it have hope?
No one really cares.

The once green branches,
Now still; those skeletons!
Ah! It must be fall,
For a Tree to loose its splendor.

Leaves fall,
Do they just fall?
Isn’t it graceful?
When they fall?
Swaying so gracefully,
Side to side.

What is a tree without leaves?
Is it baron? Or still alive?
I like the leaves,
How they flutter in the wind,
I am not sad when I see them fall,
I feel bad when others don’t notice their goodbye.

There are three skeletons,
And two trees,
Two has leaves: they stay close to each other.
The skeletons stand still,
Are they awaiting their turn?
What happened to their leaves?
I think the leaves are keeping the skeletons alive!
How? Well, leaves are selfless,
Leaves die so trees can grow high,
The roots know the truth,
But no one cares about the roots either.
Yet, the roots keep the trees still.

I wish I could see the roots,
See the intricate beauty,
So hidden, so noble,
Roots don’t know compliments or glory,
Roots don’t care,
They know the truth.



Bits and Pieces

That which is full has the potential to be empty,

That which is empty has the potential to be full.

That which is not full has the potential to stay empty,

That which is not empty has the potential to stay full.

That which is flying has to land,

That which is on land aspires to fly.

Whoever is hungry longs to be fed,

Those that are full, gets fat on desert.

Even when one listens one can’t stop thinking,

Even while thinking some can’t stop talking.



Where the wind blows:
At times tossed, turned or even rattled,
Rain comes- rain goes,
Yesterday, today or tomorrow?

Sunny days- warm smiles,
Minutes pass, don’t come back.
Cold nights- frozen tears,
Mock away past cheers,
Wind blows: leaves fall,
Child throws away the doll.

New day: same measures,
Past rules- past fears.
Stone wall- false hope,
Tossed away across the shore.
Birds fly, snakes crawl,
Dog barks but mountains don’t Fall!


Two Worlds

There are two worlds,
One that you can see- theirs,
The one that others can’t see- yours.

When it comes to your world,
Knowing too much is a pain,
Since part of knowing your world
Is to know enough about theirs.

When it comes to their world,
Curiosity takes the better of you,
You waste your time figuring out their world–
Yet, it’s all in YOUR head.

Poems, Portfolio

Beautiful confinement.

Beautiful confinement...

A box that contain memories, of bittersweet realities,
The only thing that knows the inner walls of a desolate heart.
No one can open it- there is no key,
As the heart closes its eyes to embrace its forlorn reality,
Memories flood into the box painting painfully beautiful imagery.

At the core of the box lies a garden- exclusive,
Where the mind can create memories all-inclusive,
Not bound by that which bounds the external realm,
The mind admires beauty and wanders off.

Invisible but strong, undetectable yet true,
Beyond emotions, gestures and fantasies or any poetic imagery,
Desires whisper secrets that acknowledgment will never hear,
Wordless melodies, utterly meaningless to the world outside the box,
Not out of fear, rather,to avoid subjugation of inadequate means,
The only visitor and retriever…keeps the box alive.



Type and delete, type and delete,
Reminding myself of my own words,
Not caring about the now commonly felt hurts.
Familiar it gets:
Planned or unplanned, only known by the depths.

The depths can only be reached by those invited,
Depths are a secret, depths are deep.
Uninvited, one gets lost and smothered,
Between the confusion and the desires.
A burning bush scares away the rabbits,
May appear beautiful to some,
Yet the anguish felt by the bush is burnt,
Until there’s only ashes and that too disappears with a breeze.


Stray hay

A stray hay tossed by the wind,
Freedom or confinement it knows not.
A longing, so deep inside,
The ground or the breeze cannot fathom.

The ground seems inevitable,
Whilst the wind seemingly alters reality.
A setting sun with a blue sky,
May just be the highlight of its existence.

On air it takes flight: See what’s beneath,
On ground, it gets trampled.
Security or enchantment seems out of reach,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer.

Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Yet with a sunset it appears to glimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer,
Till the night comes and it gets dimmer.


Melodies from depth

That creaky sound when cutting wood with a damp butter knife,
One can only try to imagine what the bare wood feel.
Is it pain? Is it anguish? Is it desperation?
Is it a cry of sorrowful frustration?
Or is it a melody?
A melody for the final outcome of the process?
A tune? A hum? An intermingling of hope and sorrow?
A hopefulness for a worthy outcome?
A burning sensation in the depths of its soul,
Constant as breathing, desirable, desirable …