We walk around the Kesbewa lake
The walk brings out the stories
In us. Two friends sharing anecdotes
and a disorder. The reason why
we are here: The Disorder.
My limbs are flying
The urge to express is drowned
By the bus that booms fast it’s horn
The lake is next to the retreat.
It’s peaceful. The walk at night takes
us to another place. 26 years of friendship
and here we are.
Who would have thought?
at the bandana party in Hikka
That we’d end up like this?
But we are blessed. So, blessed
We have the means, the will, and the way
To heal ourselves as best we can.
I walk alone around the lake
earlier in the afternoon and see
A mixture of rural and suburban.
A man and woman having a well bath
The white redde tied casually around the woman
the man, his bare chest proudly erect
covered with white foam
his teeth gleaming, smiling big
They both look at me, curiously, then, lose interest.
Next, A businessman’s lunch — the boys
typically dressed in white shirt and ties—advertising types
sneaking a smoke in the back garden their story boards
left to lounge inside waiting for the client to appear
with the inevitable change that will bring to their art.
A tavern sits at the very corner of the lake, adjacent to
The road. I hear loud music and see the empty
Arrack bottles. Further, a café serving coke and chips
Reminds me of SE ASIA the Bamboo built contraption
Looks like so many seen in Manila, Bangkok.
At the bridge, Men fish. One of the men steps along beside
Me to walk… He wants to chat and I am amiable,
But a lack of a shared language prompts him to say bye
at the gate. I open and step in.
N.S. KESBEWA, PILYANDALA
Dedicated to Viren, fellow traveler on this path and, story teller.