Foreword: Pain is rooted like a tree. The pain of my beloved reaches as far as the road reaches. Your eyes were once soft, but your pain is now a stone statue behind your soft eyes.

This is the room where
they spoke about many things under the sun.
He loved her sweet prattle
she adored his underlying toughness,
they found in each other
food for their aching minds.
This is the room where
he would smoke cigars,
one after another,
seeing her in each puff of curling smoke,
and think of her,
her smile and touch
her lip buds and skin so soft.
This is the room
where he sipped at his tea,
wrote all his papers,
and read many books
discovering in each line,
that she was the meaning to his life.
This is the room
that is private and dark as his soul,
in this room number six
lies the mission and foundation to his goal,
herin are whispers and secrets
lying hidden never to be told.

Afterthought: There came the time when all things stopped. I waited for the water to fall but no water fell for a long time. It stopped completely. Flat land seems flat forever.

© Collinie Hareendra Weeratunga, 2006 (all rights reserved)