Poetry

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A wordsmith has a license to kill
With tiny words in sequence
Little projectiles that traverse
From parchment to the ensheathed

Poetry was always about ballistics
The barrels that load and fire
Gunpowder and death

And when you die, it is as good as an orgasm
You don’t make sounds though. Just a perfect silence
The heart in adagio, and your sensation expands
And a little firework erupts on the tip
Of a little organ called the anterior insula

And a little fluid bursts out
The dope of dopamine, fixing you
To an aesthetic high. And that little addiction
Becomes a raison-etre, a means to a living.

And life is not about what car you drive
Or how big your house is. It is all about small
Words powering your existence.

And love of words is as addictive as an alkaloid.
It becomes your choice of freedom.
When little photons enumerate the retina
And saturate a little remote organ

We poets call it arousal.

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Published by

meandererworld (Dilantha Gunawardana)

Dr Dilantha Gunawardana is a molecular biologist, who graduated from the University of Melbourne. He moonlights as a poet. Dilantha wrote his first poem at the ripe age of 32 and now has more than 1700 poems on his blog. His poems have been accepted/published in Forage, Kitaab, Eastlit, American Journal of Poetry and Ravens Perch, among others. He was also awarded the prize for "The emerging writer of the year - 2016" in the Godage National Literary Awards, Sri Lanka for his first collection of poems (Kite Dreams – A Sarasavi Publication), while being shortlisted for the poetry prize. Dilantha is a dual citizen of Sri Lanka and Australia, and shares his experiences from two different cultures. He blogs at - https://meandererworld. wordpress.com/

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