Author: Kasun De Silva

Some flowers cut the heart for softness is a blade and gaze itself a homing-device exquisitely potent

'Foot' prints some are made for poetry and some for sign, which are yours have you wondered, where did you…

The green, the grain the lookout point and place of rest; those who will (sometimes) reap but it is also…

The Walawe has its pace (as rivers usually do) tempestuous now and now in meditation deep

The tree whispers and the wind carried its story: 'I owe the sky I owe the earth I owe my…

behind the bull the cart that which came before destinations define direction though -- the twists, turns and pace --…

From tree to tree generation to generation one history to another as others have and still others will in the…

The storm has questions to ponder: 'Who and what shall I engulf, which lands shall I lay waste what will…

A human construct that human dwarfs a doctrine comprehensive within grasp things that bring us to ourselves are dimensional poverties…

Peeling off the walls are conversational pigments, the poetry of the unsaid cling on to the pillars, memories upon a…

mystic valleys have mysteries to hide they protect in ways known and unknown that which is sacred and therefore best…

Labyrinth for stranger for tiller, the back of his hand...

Nine! Yes. but different arches different numbers for each eye that grazed across architectures and trains every day for 99…

They are never one thing and one thing alone, stomachs necessity victim victor in the fill and refill of things…

The relics of the night concede to the more abiding and at dawn they approach signatured with ambiguity -- ours…