Here they collect elephant dung
To be pressed and made into paper.
How beautiful that pages
Of poetry are born, from elephant poop,
The biggest dung of them all.
What used to be fertilizer for
The cultivation of crops, now
Making way for stanzas, sonnets
And haikus. How poetic
That inside “the well of dew”,
There is innovation, the free
Thinkers like Gallileo and Copernicus,
Who saw a strain of beauty in the diabolically ugly.
How a poet exonerates ink from pen,
On organic spaces, where
Scribbled words, gain coherence
And meaning. How in Sri Lanka,
Even elephant poop, becomes
A poem. How like a house fly,
Buzzing on fresh droppings
Of elephant excreta, there are
Poems being air lifted from the organic.
How the hour cometh, when those
Poems with wings, liftoff,
Like commensal house flies,
Carrying gems like germs, to infect
The third eye; that supreme
Connoisseur of indiscreet beauty