by Shirani Rajapakse
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| The Sri Lankan state is descending into a full blown political and economic crisis, as more people contend with starvation, death and severe disruptions. Now they are also facing the brutal violence of the state. The BBC reports at least nine people died and more than 200 were injured as vehicles and houses were set alight during fighting between government supporters and critics this week. The island is facing its worst economic crisis since independence, and the responses of the state indicate it is incapable of protecting its citizens. The deployment of military force, however, is unlikely to quell unrest. The anger and frustration displayed by the public, aggravated by pro-government protesters, is only likely to grow – fuelling further distrust in the ruling government. —The Conversation, May 12, 2022 |
Watch the blazing
snarls of flames
spitting disgust.
Bodies stand outside arms raised
fists wrapped round
poles ready to beat up dissent
silence with one stroke
anyone, anyone who protests
opposes the wrong
howling jackals laughing condoning
acts of violence.
Wrong is the new right.
No one understands where
we stand.
Who are we? How did we
come to this?
Thirty-five years ago
I cowered in fear
of red guerillas stalking streets
vengeance running in veins
bloodthirsty hyenas
looting
pilfering
destroying
torturing.
Murdering.
A new generation that
doesn’t remember
the knock on doors dragging
life out pleading screaming begging,
never saw
bloated corpses floating in waterways
or have to step over
roasting moaning bodies unrecognizable
piled up on the side of roads,
never
lived
through fear
wondering if they will be next.
Only
heard about those days
through history’s sieve.
Violence
the norm to get what
cannot be
through the ballot.
Is power so blinding we
gorge on our own?
Brother against brother, the same
kind, flesh and blood
stripping bare to kill for a different
cause or
for promises of treats?
The future sheds tears eaten
up greedily by cackling flames
lamenting
silently through swirling
fumes roaring hatred
and what is left
to moan for—cinders that were
once homes now
kicked to the side
as vultures from foreign shores
line up behind clouds looming
at the periphery of the island
waiting
to step in and devour the land.
Shirani Rajapakse is a Sri Lankan poet and short story writer. She is the author of five books including the award-winning Chant of a Million Women as well as I Exist. Therefore I Am. Rajapakse’s work appears in many journals and anthologies including Dove Tales, Buddhist Poetry, Litro, Linnet’s Wings, Berfrois, Flash Fiction International, Voices Israel, About Place, Mascara, Counterpunch, Deep Water, Silver Birch, International Times, Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine, Spark, The Write-In, Asian Signature, Moving Worlds, Harbinger Asylum.
