Who do you love when you come undone?

Never on a Sunday.

                         

                      

I prefer emeralds.

                                      

                            

The Remains of The Day

The Eighth Deadly Sin

                                    

Nobody holds a candle to me in my killer heels

Flash

Light fingers.
Playing tricks.
Like puppeteers' strings, tugging at your limbs, your body completely in their control.
Here one second, gone the next.
Devilish blighters.
So deceiving. They shine, and when you reach out and think you've got them in your grasp, they vanish - your shadow staining the little that's left of them.
Beware.

I See You

It's all a matter of sight.
He sees in me everything that I want You to see. Yet You remain blind to the very things that seem to attract him. I don't know if You see it and discard it as meaningless, if You refuse to admit that you've seen it or whether Your eyes never chanced upon it at all. What I do know is that His eyes are open. And He does see.

" Why can't You see me through His eyes? "

I knew it was You with my eyes closed, and yet You can't seem to see me.
Open your eyes.

Black.

My hair is black, and now so is the rest of my body. Not all of it, just the parts of it that were unfortunate enough to be exposed to the wrath of the midday sun. Therefore my skin is now two shades. No, make that three. My arms are darker than my shoulders and my chest is lighter than my shoulders and my arms. I look a sight. I can blend into my cupboard now. Fairness Creams will squeal when they see me. Actually, shriek. I doubt even the Bean's homemade facial mask can cure me, cure any of us now.

But, black is back. There's no such rubbish as 'Pink is the new black' or 'Black is out, green is in' because black will always be black. No two shades about that. Forever and ever, black has stood the test of time and will always be 'IN'. It's cool. Therefore we are cool. All us kaluas, darkened by the melanin pigments in our skin, angered by the scorching of the sun's rays, are cool. Because black is in and black will always be black.

your dying light.

"Anything but first is losing - and we are always winners"

You know that exhilarating rush of victory? The spinning in your head as the screams of celebration erupt from within you, your voice hoarse with the volume and power with which you choose to proclaim this good news. The beat of your heart, faster than a mile a minute, and the awakening thought in your head that slowly settles after the cheers die down.

We won.

It's one thing to win just because you're good at something. It's another story altogether when you know you worked yourself to the bone to achieve what you most wanted. To know that you gave of your all when it was needed, that you were a part of the cataclysmic force that swept to the finish line, the combined magnitude of heart, soul and strength that are greater than any gold medal, that is the true feeling of victory.

A victory that belongs to you.

Sunrise, Colombo 07

" Come fast, come fast, get your camera! " Someone shouts. I turn. The sky is erupting, so it seems. Celestial streams of light reach outward like spindle fingers out of a cotton-candy lump of clouds that look almost edible. Slowly, the sun begins to surface. Streaking the heavens in shades of red-orange, pink and shooting through the blue clouds, setting them on fire. On low exposure, it looks a miracle. In real life, you just stop and stare. " Appreciate the sunrise " and so we must.

and on my feet...

It's alive!

A year ago, all the araliya trees in the school compound were like dead bodies - skeletal creatures, their branches spindly fingers that bore no flowers, these fingers reaching empty handed to the sky.

And now, they have been reborn. The essence of life breather over these emaciated waifs, bringing with it the abundance of blooming flowers in every pigment conceivable - white, yellow, pink, magenta.

They were sorely missed.

Mama ♥

Of death and life.

"It's a holiday, go random"