by Ruvindra Sathsarani
Walking along the neatly carpeted roads
you see the splendor of the Colombo Lights
Hovering above your head
The lamps lightening the sky, sharp at 6 o’clock.
swooshing past you like arrows
the lush vehicles, dimming their lights
At each stop, adjacent to the buildings
Hiding all the stories of those lives, yearning for Survival
so dull, forgotten and cast aside now.
The theater stands in the shape of a
Lotus flower; a symbol of the Nation
cultural shows to honor the officials
The towers reach limitless boundaries
with blossoming money notes; inside.
The recreational spots crowded with the rich
the haughty and nonchalant looks
sitting on the benches, taking leave from routine.
Colombo Lights do not shine for them
But for the old woman
And the lottery ticket seller in his wheel chair
The worn out face of the sweeper
And the man who stoops to pick
pieces from KFC cartons and McDonalds
The luxury of the Street Lights leaves them happy
more than you and I would ever know
they live by that light, under the Banyan trees
smothered in the corroded city life
in another world, perfectly serene and simple
working for a better city, a beautiful one.