Happiness Blues, Sri Lanka, A Poem

            Happiness Blues, Sri Lanka

I don’t know what to say, my friend,

I have some blues that don’t seem right,

too light and fancy free, happiness

and all that putty you poke and pat,

grinning silly, but love is the matter

with me, I have plenty and I want

to start sharing the bounty. How lucky

can a man be, used to melancholy

and raving at the Moon about family

buried by the lagoon, who will

catch the drift along with snowflakes

in this far Northern and European town

that tried to make peace back

in the viper-ridden Vanni and failed;

yet somehow, miraculously, cousins

survived and are making their way

out of the jungle, heads held high;

and throughout the planet

family is saying this effort

to settle foundation stones

of our piece of earth will continue

until the end of time; so nobody

should rest on laurels, or dream

of bitter death, happiness

has me up tonight, generous

and lively. Are you ready

for a roll? A reading

about uncivil fools who think

blood can be washed away,

bones buried in the sand,

that everybody will forget

how one hand clapped

and white vans set off

to prowl? No, my friends,

this happiness will not

be shovelled into the back

seat or stuffed with cloth

down its throat or peppered

in the eyeballs. It will not expire

before midnight. We are

about to play--the crowd

is eager and shouting—

a post-midnight set, happiness

blues, after the reckoning,

the counting of the dead.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, October 1, 2012