Lanka

This country
which reminds me
So much
of my own.
Where a monkey-God centuries ago
Leapt the distance I have flown.
Where I see
The crests and troughs
of my own face
In the lines and crevices
of the locals.
Where there exists
A mythical
Resilience
That does not break
Through the ravages of tsunamis
And the heartbreak of Insurgence.
For where I come from too
I see
Cloudbursts and earthquakes
And tragedies that only humans can cause
And yet we rise
For in my country too
History is not forgotten
Like the smell of cinnamon.
It spices our food
And scents our skin.

This country
which reminds me
So much
of my own
Because maybe
It is my own.