Galle Face is the place to be in Sri Lanka.
It’s a walkway adjacent to the beach,
Filled with pineapple vendors, kite runners,
Ice cream vans and pedestrians, almost in a world of their own.
And just on the other side of the road,
You find plush hotel lobbies filled with self-made yuppies,
Who indulge in cupcakes and cocktails
Waiting to break the ice, to crash into a hotel room.
And in the middle, you find a four-laned road
Where Audis run alongside tuk-tuks,
Going in the same direction – dreamwards.
A city where flesh-scarce slumdogs,
Are worse off than well-fed stray dogs.
As young dog lovers with logoed T-shirts
Go around town, embarking on vaccination
Programs for the strays,
While slumdogs inject recycled needles,
Through the ventral side of their elbows joints.
Anything to forget the austere, like a shot of cocaine,
Gazing vividly at the stray dog that sleeps on the road
Next to your rundown slum, smoking
Reality down the abyss of a needle
And you think, how beautiful it is to be a dog,
That sleeps at will, eats scraps of waste food,
And needs only to chase his fluffy tail
And never a fleecy plume – that always teases you
And then disappears when you’re closing in –
That dog’s tail, man calls a pipe dream.