He flew to our shores on the back of a black iron bird,
Immigration stamped him through on a student visa,
His mother’s kiss still lingered upon the lips of memory,
To Sheffield he came waving away Sri Lankan tears.

Life was hard, life was sleepless, life was unrelenting,
To eat his daily bread he worked long into the dread night,
By day he studied English knowledge inked in books old,
And by the arrival of twilight he delivered steaming dreams.

Every day, every single day, by the light of day, he spoke,
He spoke to his beloved mother so far away across oceans,
They had a bond true and deep, a mother and her beloved son,
But wings wet with evil were flapping closer and closer…

On the night before the Eve of All Hallows the darkness came,
As he drove through a wet night on the last shift of his job,
As he went to deliver his final aromatic pizza of the evening,
That’s when the demons of ignorance stabbed away his hopes.

They came from an infernal zone and they sliced through him,
The silent angels watched with horror stitched in their sockets,
His liquid life ebbed away at the coffin wheel of his delivery car,
The cold October moon wept milky light upon the warm blood.

The media ravens will label him  ‘this’ and  ‘that’ and the  ‘other’,
And soon, all too soon, his name will melt into memory’s mist,
His name was Thavisha Lakindu Peiris and his life sings no more,
Under Halloween’s one eyed moon a soul kneels for justice.

You stole it
from me,
my most favorite
season of all.
You crumpled up
the pictures I
created in my mind,
and burned them
in the fire of
my pain.
Now I am alone,
to gather pumpkins
in the chilled breeze,
in silence instead
of laughter.
The haunted hay rides
will be far less
terrifying,
than the night you
left me.
I wear a mask
everyday now,
numbing my
excitement for
this years costume.
Wherever I am,
all dressed up
I'll remember how
I was supposed to
be with you.

You left me,
when the seasons changed.
You followed summer,
right out of my life.

I am now alone,
my heart turning colder
with the weather.

Whispering to each handhold, "I'll be back,"
I go up the cliff in the dark. One place
I loosen a rock and listen a long time
till it hits, faint in the gulf, but the rush
of the torrent almost drowns it out, and the wind --
I almost forgot the wind: it tears at your side
or it waits and then buffets; you sag outward...

I remember they said it would be hard. I scramble
by luck into a little pocket out of
the wind and begin to beat on the stones
with my scratched numb hands, rocking back and forth
in silent laughter there in the dark--
"Made it again!" Oh how I love this climb!
-- the whispering to the stones, the drag, the weight
as your muscles crack and ease on, working
right. They are back there, discontent,
waiting to be driven forth. I pound
on the earth, riding the earth past the stars:
"Made it again! Made it again!"

Speak
in a low tone.
so you can hear
Me.

I
love this song
the beat illuminates
Me.

You,
can’t miss this
remember…remind
Me.

Silence.
delay the response.
just keep talking to
Me

Great
stride, with an excellent disposition!
wave at the people with
Me

Rendezvous...
in an hour?
have a drink or two with
Me

Pretentious
they pretend to know everything.
see them, flaring nostrils at
Me?

Cease
to speak…
something so thoughtless to
Me.

Later
just say…
that was just crazy of
Me.

Talking
in your head?
automatically answering…
Me.

When you wake up in the morning
and your sheets cling to you
and your face is beautiful
and it looks as if you made love,

the sun splits up the air into effulgent particles.

Like a heavy duty truck.
Its sudden brakes at the zebra crossing
release a force which you can feel in your throat.

Where to stop and moreover
where to continue from?

We are like a never worn coat for a body tired of waiting.
A smile I will remember for all my life. Like a tattoo inside my stomach.

You have to reach only that place where somebody loves you.

In time you realise that there is something inside which never surrenders.
Something which never gives itself up.

A hedgehog crouching in fear on the back of some other animal.

The laptop heats my thighs
as I pursue your imprint.
Google throws up 16,300,000 results in 0.12 seconds.
Facebook delivers a hoard of possible yous.

You are an elusive ghost
in a city of doppelgangers,
always just disappearing
around the corner.

Each click is like
a tap on the shoulder in a crowded street:
the face revealed is never yours.  But there
you go again, breezing past
in the opposite direction.

I am Breathless: I am
The Man Who Loved Women.

I give up: the Diana Wright who is a **** star
is not you, but is quite distracting.
And I can't type poetry with one hand.