Mother,
Teach your sons not to stare,
and not your daughters
what to wear.
Teach your sons how to cook,
and not to judge someone,
by their look.
Teach your sons the meaning of whore
and that it’s okay
not to settle a score.
Teach your sons how to touch
and not your daughters
to worry so much.
Teach your sons,
that boys will not be boys,
and that if they don’t behave,
you’ll take away their toys.
There were two William sisters.
One’s dead, and the other married.
So now there’s none!
If you stumble and fall,
do not let the dirt hug you
do not let it lull you
with its false sense of comfort.
Hypnotize you
with its warmth.
For when you come to
it will be too late.
The blood already seeped
into the earth’s bowels.
The wounds already healed
leaving behind grotesque scars
and patterns.
On your being
And your soul
It will be too late.
Your friends will forget
Your enemies will triumph
All the while
you lay on the ground
wallowing in self pity!
So get up! Run!
Walk! Limp! Drag yourself!
heave not a sigh of relief
Until,you reach the finish line
Until you hear victory’s bugle
For not trying
is a far greater loss
than losing itself !
Wear a skirt!
Walk don’t run!
Let not your eyes flirt
You’re a daughter not a son.
Remember your place,
In the kitchen of course!
Make pretty your face
Use words, not force.
Learn the arts,
not mathematics!
Open your hearts
Don’t be pragmatics
Beware of fun!
You’re a daughter not a son.
Just a minute ago
I looked up from my phone
and realized
A year had gone
I snickered
and looked down at my phone 
I just traded my large,open window,
To a fan with constant airflow!
because the bustle of the trees
and the birds and the bees,
Kept me up with their never ending noise
and really I had no choice!
This might sound clichéI want you to stay
Volition
not persuasion
should be your friend
or this will end
Apologize by yourself
when you forget which shelf
the coffee pot goes
Or we will be foes
It might look trivial
let there be no denial
I want you to care
so we can fare
Through thick and thin
Together for the win
sounds like a commercial
But this is a rehearsal
For the rest of our life
If I’m to be your wife
I want you to want me
So why can’t you see?
He danced to the breeze
as it licked his skin,
Hypnotized.
He was floating
above the noise
above the crowd.
His body strained
To pull away
To break free.
The string wavered
stretched
And snapped!
Finally he was free,
He soared
soared high
and took with him
All his hopes and dreams
Painting them,
across the sky!
I make you smile,
She’ll make you laugh.
I’m only pretty,
She will be gorgeous.
You look at me,
You’ll stare at her.
You remember me,
You’ll think of her.
I’m the routine,
She the adventure.
I’m your present,
Will she be your future?
Is the bride shy?
Is that why her eyes
do not meet his
through the sequinned veil,
or is it because she’s told not to,
not to look at him directly
not to challenge his gaze
by her mother
and her mother’s mother.
Is it dangerous?
to stare back at strange men
Men who ogle
Men who smack their lips
imagining the what ifs.
Do not avert your gaze.
Bend your head down
in embarrassment.
Stare back with fury.
Show them the strength
of the heart
that beats beneath your breast.
Just stare back.
A Sri Lankan Wordsmith 