Sunlight comes in through the slats,
in the brown blinds over my window,
casting strips of light over the white table cloth.
Warm leaves hold the sunshine in the wind outside.
I slid the wooden slats open, and looked outside where street ends.
Thoughts cross my mind bringing back memories from all over:
Wind moans through the half open window of a local bus,
Green paddy fields remind of spring,
New pan pasal smells of freshly made mitha paan,
Easterly wind blows off the ratuwa river
parting of the hairlines.
Evening Sun goes down,
the night darkens, the wind dies,
The still of the night enters.