Ten years ago
We passed the church in Negombo.
It was a sleepy little place,
Where the pace of life was slow
On an island that had just found peace
After years of horror.
And now this.
I feel I am enshrouded in cotton wool,
But there is no comfort in that.
There is only numbness and sorrow.
But how can I speak of unspeakable things?
And what gives me the right to try?
Beautiful island, the shape of a teardrop.
Weep for Her.