Tender the Sky

Pain resonates in the mud. Unbalances you, sticks you in centuries one can only imagine. Toppled spheres atop consecrated pews littered with charred Easter missalettes. Doesn’t count as abstract art, your canvas. Bleeds, splattered hostile wails, upended concrete and tea whorled into one. Colombo, port on the majestic Kelani river. Sri Lanka’s heart. Suffered a cardiac arrest that day. Triage, the silent saint. Florence Nightingale stirred to round up the troops. Revenge you say? Ambassador suites were available. You had the means.