If the Kandyan rain painted love and illusion                                    

The rain in Pettah, painted life                                                              

A life of – colours, shades and water…

The cacophonous bustle gently subsiding

As the rain patters hard against the metal panels

The salty tang of dried fish and crushed onions

Gushing along the drains with discarded newspapers

Umbrellas unfolding and quick scampering of feet

Polished shoes, rubber slippers and bare feet

Streaming in diverse directions…

I watch the masqueraded, disjointed lives

Blending into one fellow humankind

Gentlemen in their business attire – seeking shelter

Under the pavement hawker’s tent roof

A stray dog curling itself beside the feet

Of an old guard, standing at the doorway of a shopping mall

Clandestine lovers have no choice – but

To unite under one umbrella – stroking against each other

Sharing one indelible, fleeting moment of juvenile love…

While streams of unfaithful sordid images

And sins washed off from soiled palms

Seeps from dark shadows – lurking behind guest rooms

Like dusty brown pythons creeping stealthily along the ground

People watching the rain – people feeling the rain

In diverse ways…

A glistening tear falls from a spectator, leaning at an apartment balcony

And a nostalgic smile fading through a glass window in Pettah 138

Oh! And hustling through the crowds and heavy rain  

A senile porter – pulling his loaded cart with his callused hands

Greets me with a toothless grin – and says

“If you won’t mind your bags getting a bit wet,

I can give them a lift,

Sir!”