Swordplay to Love

LOve Toulouse

A country that runs on just about anything,
Chasing the occident, the western way of life.
How stand-up comedy nights,
And big bad wolf book sales,
Are the newest additions in town.
We are only who we become, to change
I suppose. The times I’ve laid in bed
Wondering when will be the day,
Jesus or Lord Buddha will become
Totally irrelevant. How I hear a stand
Up comedian make fun of school mottoes,
And I look at a new world order, where rug rats
Graduating to enter the rat race,
Is just business as usual, the mottoes
Diluting the minute, they are outside
Of the school gates. The schools
That come in many forms; “school of thoughts”, “old school”,
“Schools of religion”, what transcends the classroom.
You can do math, or learn biology
But some things remain home schooled.
How no one can teach you
To fall in love. When you let a partial strain
Infect you, while you put a duckboard
Over a mud puddle, like a bridge
What you cross in hand, lip
And finally body. How the best
Schools in Colombo, give you the “Sword”,
English, of which, the blade is sharpened,
In elocution classes, which,
Like the rough surfaces of sharpening stones,
Gifts you a sharper blade, that cuts through,
The air in front of you. How swordplay
Becomes a tradition in time,
The great duels of conversation,
The swords fencing mouth to mouth,
The beauty of knowing, that the clanging noises
Of our swordplay, drift us closer and closer,
Until we are close enough,
To turn our swords, into ploughshares.