Aborigines

A round Eucalyptus bark, gather, B reathless groups of men, dark as cocoa, O verlooking a rusty dome, Uluru, it is called. R emembering an adolescence of gleaning, I ndustrious in harnessing the abracadabra of a land; G oing for a bath to a billabong, to a high on pituri, I ndigenous, and still loyal…

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Returning to My Motherland, Sri Lanka

When I came back, To my home turf, I found myself, Too cosmopolitan to my liking,  The waffles and maple syrup, at breakfast, The sweet cappuccinos at plush coffee shops, And not having rice and curry for All three meals. Yet, I cracked Open my heart, to remember my early years, The porridge, the sambal…

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