Poetry by Mehr Gunawardena

Poetry by Mehr Gunawardena

By Mehr Gunawardena

#50

I come from a land,
Of aquatic air and crystaled soil,
Rained upon by a lush glow of trees.

I come from a land,
Where the sun whispers
Harsh secrets of gold onto our shoulders.
And the moon caresses us to sleep.

I come from a land,
That composed my skin and my soul
To serendipity.
A land where
People are drowning in their own inventions,
And the split blood of the creatures that bloom here.

I come from a land,
Of paraquat cocktails,
Lined with an iridescent sprinkle of misplaced faith.

I come from a land,
That promised protection
But instead I was poisoned by mistakes.

I come from a land,
That deceived me,
It covered me up,
Filled my lungs with awe,
Whilst draining my mind of reality.

I come from a land,
That is flooding me with its beauty,
And lack of regard.

I come from a land,
I cannot hate,
Because, it is all I really know.


#51

There is a whisper
Humming just out of
Reach.
But the source lips
Look familiar, almost mine.
Chapped and creased,
Lined with chocolate,
And blooming in pink.
Barely dripping words,
Steady in stream
But frail in depth.
Each lip slightly parted,
Bridged by a single thread.
Skin.
Lightly pushing and pulling
At breath’s will.
It’s rushing closer,
Wheezing and raw.
Still wishing, wondering,
Quivering;
Should I stand
Naked,
In front of you
And tear my
Flesh apart?
Break my ribs
Rip out my heart
Drug up my brain
And give you more
Than I can give myself?
Or. Should I keep
Closed?
Crouch down,
Hold myself under
Your embrace.
Let you kiss me,
Look at me,
Fall for me.
And when the time come,
Walk away intact?

#31

The girl who drowned in words
Held her breath.

She was taught to say sorry
For the things she did not do.

Sorry for her profession;
For her manner and expression.

She learnt to apologize for her freedom,
Believing that it was her treason.

Her kind died to remove the word from their vernacular,
But like the patriarchy, some things just stick.

Stuck like the anchor sunk deep into the bed,
With chains and a collar holding her in head.

Her lungs filled heavy with words and she could not breathe.
We all stomped on her, and now she is 6 feet beneath.

She was drowning in words,
And she held her last breath.

Sorry.


Mehr Gunawardena is 23 years old, a recent graduate from Clark University, and, is currently residing in New York City. She is originally from Sri Lanka and initially moved to the United States to pursue higher education. Since a young age she has had a passion for reading and writing poetry. She even used to write short poems on the front of her exam papers in middle school that would get her into trouble. Mehr Gunawardena is a writer that focuses on fiction and poetry, however, she also dabbles in other forms of creative writing.

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