My wife had put on the colorless base
For a painting in burgundy, cutex
She calls it and that little brush
Paints little keratin canvases
With a single coat of color

She knows we will be at Hilton
In a couple of hours, partying with friends.
She had photographed and sent
Pictures of three evening dresses to all her friends
To get a parliamentary vote on the best dress
For the night. Her three other friends went
Shopping all over Colombo for the perfect gown
For a night of elegance.

And by 11.55 we will be drinking
From a tall glass and making our resolutions,
To make the lectures extra interesting
Make love a little drop from the exosphere
And not the stratosphere, although biology
Is unlikely to change her custom design
To accommodate the ammunition of heightened bliss
And of course make a little baby
If my biological nuke has extra radioactivity
And her parachute-less eggs
Will have many a great fall

And we will wait till midnight strikes
To make a little pact with our lips
A kiss that will see the year passed
Fall like a million raindrops
– And a little brilliant sun that shines bright – call it hope –
Washing off those stubborn times
When fate is leashed and enslaved
To synchronous affliction

And a new year, is always renewal
It is the butterfly from the cocoon
The flower from the bud
The dawn from the night
The diary from the countdown
And all you can do, is to let yourself go
To the many hued pledges of possibility

Lady luck and father time,
They say, when they consummate
You get a sculpture of baby fate, looking through
The crevices of her golden irises
Promising you bigger pickings
At least scraps of silver linings
Glistening through tall emerald blades
Of endless meadows of grass.

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