Radiant Lanka

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Radiant Lanka, island of ancient rain,

Where the ocean listens and the hills remain,

I bring salt-laced memories, cinnamon air,

Of red earth paths and frangipani prayer.


O Lanka, my lover, lotus-crowned land,

Where mountains rise slow from the sea’s wide hand,

Your rivers speak softly in silvered tongue,

Old as the drums that are still unsung.


I wander your ruins where moonlight stays,

Among broken moons of forgotten days,

At Anuradhapura’s breathing stone,

Where silence still knows it was never alone.


When one man’s demon is another’s past,

When exile and glory are both made to last-

O Lanka, to love you, I ask no leave.


I’ve seen Sigiriya blaze at dawn,

A lion’s memory weather-worn,

And pilgrims climb with blistered feet,

Bearing vows the gods still meet.


I’ve crossed tea hills dressed in mist and green,

Where hands move fast, and lives move unseen,

Watched monsoon curtains stitch earth to sky,

While thunder learns how to lullaby.


O Lanka, island of wound and flame,

Of many names and the same old name,

In your fractures I still remain-

Not whole, but held, like earth after rain.

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