Two poems | by Indunil Madhusankha

Flowers on Sale

 Rose, jasmine, anthurium, carnation and hibiscus  

 A multiplicity of gorgeous flowers

 to the taste of the wealthy,

 of the opulent gentlemen

 Tulips available only in Five Star Hotels

 consumed by millionaires

 who may evour in the most fulgent pollens

 while bobbing on the petals

 The remuneration package 

 negotiable and depending

 on the superficial elegance or

 on the number of petals

 They are just toys,

 to the rapture of their clients
Dark blots in these flowers 

and lacking more of the inner fragrance

Branded as stray bitches

Disdain and hate left as their badge

And there lies under the very folly, 

in the bed of their heart,

the cause, the unknown cause, 

that was the titillation

provoking to be on sale


Beware of Serpents

 Highly venomous serpents

 Here, there and everywhere in the society

 in broods and broods of huge numbers

 Living in the darkened hidings of the underworld

 The most innocent appearance

 and perfect nature,

 they bring to reflection 

 blinding us to the sight of the truth

 The coil made of their abnormally phosphorous body

 measuring a great length

 In the midst, there is the shimmering face

 gleaming with luminous, beady eyes,

 half closed in trance of meditation, 

 the meditation of stalking

 An intensely poisonous snare their coil is

 The pray gets drilled by their fangs

 Yet noticeable to none of us

 is the torturing trap in that coil of harmless beauty

 At the face of anger with a shrill sizzle

 they would make a noose of themselves

 around your neck and wring it

 until vomit comes out of your mouth,

 until your eyes lunge into the last sleep 

 These phantom serpents 

 with their hungry, thirsty stomach

 which never gets satisfied  

 though huge quantities of food

 slip into their cord like body

 Still flickering their forked tongue

 wanting more and more 
 Deft tricksters for hoodwinking

 Totally apt to the instant

 as if in a fancy dress parade

 Year by year sloughing their skin

 discarding the old one

 So the identification getting crumpled

 Their incurable sting, if hurts you

 befalls the dreadful birth of another serpent

 Or, otherwise, death will catch you 

 May be the serpent is the closest of yours

 You will never perceive the one

 till the havoc tumbles on you,

 having been stung by the very serpent

 So, beware of serpents!


Indunil Madhusankha is currently an undergraduate reading for a B.Sc Special Degree in Mathematics at the Faculty of Science, University of Colombo. Though he is academically involved with the subjects of Mathematics and Statistics, he also pursues a successful career in the field of English language and literature as a budding young researcher, reviewer, poet and content writer. Basically, he explores the miscellaneous complications of the human existence through his poetry by focussing on the burning issues in the contemporary society. Moreover, Indunil’s works have been featured in many international anthologies, magazines and journals. 

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