Haiku #4

Dreading the day
When I would describe us
In past tense

The Red Dress

The red dress

With strappy laces

Going along the bend

Of my delicate neck

The red dress

With block print

Long and slender

Along my limbs

The red dress

Accompanied by

Brass earrings

That go ching ching

The red dress

Curly hair falls on it

Along the neck

Covering my dark skin

The red dress

And time of dusk

Birds flying home

Sun setting behind the buildings

The red dress

Black kohl framing big eyes

Matching red lipstick

French manicured nails

The red dress

Waiting for compliments

That redirect towards

Those under thirty girls

The red dress

Posing in anticipation

Of a text

“You look stunning”

The red dress

Demanding her

Pamper me, pamper me

We go to the salon

The red dress

Enters the dinner table

Blush berry sangria

And a friend’s fears for company

The red dress

Hails a cab

At about midnight

Covers up her chest

The red dress

Looks in the mirror

Falls in love

With herself

The red dress

Is off my skin

Tucked in bed

In the company of dreams 

Travelogues of a manic depressive girl in Sri Lanka

Crazy in the morning
Spirited in the afternoon
Calm at sunset
Sleepy by night

As the window changes scenery
Her mind changes moods
Beaches to hills to wildlife
Her mind is rough, sunny, hot
Then cool, chilly, frozen
And then it pours!

She goes upstream, then downstream
With the current, against the current
Drifting, drowning
Ebbing, receding

The high tides of her mind are dangerous
She dresses, undresses, over dresses
And then she walks in her night gown

Slow like the elephants of Pinnawale elephant orphanage
Helpless like the albino turtle of Kosgoda turtle hatchery
Mischievous like the squirrel that loves fries in Mirissa beach
Indomitable like the blue whales of Mirissa; blowing air
She needs to come to the surface to breathe  just like those whales

She is deep like the oceans of Hikkaduwa
Violent like the waves of Kogolla
And then blue like the beaches of Bentota

Smashing like the mighty Devon waterfalls
Transient like the tea leaves of Nuwara Eliya;
Morose like the noise of the car engine on the south Srilankan highway
Blushing pink like the magnificent sunset
Stubborn as the rock of Sigiriya
Calm as the Buddha statues in every street corner
High maintenance like the precious gem stones
Old world and arty like Galle's dutch lanes
Attention-seeking like the cat in Negombo

She is Sri Lanka
Lanka is a mirror
Sri Lanka is a million emotions that converge
Like a tear drop in the Indian Ocean