Poetry from Indunil Madhusankha

Indunil Madhusankha is currently a Lecturer in the Department of Decision Sciences at the Faculty of Business of the University of Moratuwa. Even though he is academically involved with the subjects of Mathematics and Statistics, he also pursues a successful career in the field of English language and literature as a budding young researcher, reviewer, poet and content writer. Basically, he explores the miscellaneous complications of the human existence through his poetry by focusing on the burning issues in the contemporary society. Moreover, Indunil’s works have been featured in many international anthologies, magazines and journals.

Waiting for that Beautiful Day to Dawn 

(Previously published in the Tuck Magazine on 12th October 2015)


Do you ever reminisce?

The endearing times we spent together

sitting on a bench in the park

amidst the towering trees

replete with yellowish jacaranda cascading down

Or how we drew figures on the sand

with the tips of our fingers

while wandering along the sea belt


You promised me

caressing my hands

that you would never let go of them

And, one day, you would clasp my arm

and walk with me to the farthest horizon

Thus we dreamt of the dawn of a beautiful day


Yet, it didn’t take that long for you

to fade from my sight

Along with those sketches on the sand

melting away in the harsh waves

that abruptly broke on the shore


And I have no idea,

how incorrigible my heart is

The harder I try to refrain from lingering

The more I find myself immersed

Despite the awareness of the bitter truth,

I keep praying again and again

waiting for that beautiful day to dawn


My Kitten, So Adorable and Vivacious 

(Previously published in the Episteme Literary Journal on 15th June 2016)


Whenever I step on the backyard

for my habitual evening walks in the garden

I can see his beady eyes popping swiftly

amidst the greenish leaves of a bush

Or his big brown tail

wagging quite hastily beneath the hedge

while getting his guts ready

with his usual stalking postures

to cling onto my leg


Then, he would rush to me

very fast, as if in a flash,

and would gently bite my toes

So, I can feel the teasing touch

of his milky white teeth

As I get my foot away,

he would abruptly lay down on the path

with his furred limbs pointing upwards

while sweeping the sands with his

restless tail, almost like a fan


But all his valour falls apart

at sudden unexpected encounters

with the neighbourhood dogs passing by

What a funny and laughable scene,

to see his furry tail blooming into

goose bumps like a fire cracker


Oh, I love him so much,

for all the lavish delight

that he bestows me with

My kitten, so adorable and vivacious.



The Lamentation of a Mother 

(Previously published in the Synesthesia Literary Journal on 8th July 2016)


“Amma, when I come the next time,

prepare me some Welithalapa.”

Saying thus you left for work


But all of a sudden like one of your

most remarkable surprises

You came home deposited in a reddish wooden box,

meritoriously adorned with white coloured flowers


I fanned your face with a handkerchief

just to chase the flies away

And caressed your forehead gently

putting some tufts of hair to the top of the head

You were our only son, the greatest treasure of ours


As you were so catching and handsome a young man

and an influential commander in the Army

We had dreamt of a grand wedding ceremony for you

of sublime calibre

with the accompaniment of music

Yet I heard the smoothing rhythm

of neither the violin nor the piano

except the deafening cacophony of brownish iron horses

that they called a respectable gun salute,

and the lachrymose craws of the participants

I can remember,

unlike the others I didn’t weep or whimper

except at the moment the telephone glided from my hand

hearing the very news!


I curse it,

the horrible death messenger


Huge banners of milky white colour

fluttered in the air

On them in plain black letters

inscribed the cliché, “Anichchāwatha Sankhāra.”


Your coffin submerged slowly in to the grave

I exclaimed

clamouring and wriggling to loosen the clasp

that mitigated against my movement,

you could not be in that gloomy pit all alone

Yet the gathering was deaf


They say that now I am going mentally out

I am neither crazy nor violent

But definitely, so should be those war-mongers


Oh, forgive me, my putha, my golden gem,

for not having made Welithalapa for you.



Amma – Mother

Anichchāwatha Sankhāra – A part of a Pali verse with the meaning, “everything is subject to   decay having been created from perishable bases.”

Putha – Son

 Welithalapa – A Sri Lankan sweetmeat made of rice, sugar, and coconut



A Thanksgiving for the Four-Legged Companion 

(Previously published in the Winamop Magazine on February 2017)

Walking along the messy street

that led to the green

I would halt for a moment

and sit on the bench

that stood beside the canal

to peep at the eyes of the strangers

who passed by

to immerse myself in the nostalgic sentiments

to ponder over how cruel life had been

Only to be awaken by the rattle of the chain

gripped in my hand

My puppy with its warm canine whimpers

and soft howls

would alarm me

while wagging its tail restlessly

I would suddenly recover

from the figment of the wild imagination

that could well jeopardize the whole soul

As my puppy would tickle my toes

with its tiny tender tongue

That soothing feel, that very intimacy

would make me want to start walking again

to the green

Thank you puppy,

for not letting me cease to be!


Humans or Beasts 

(Previously published in the Indian Review Literature Magazine on 9th February 2016)


“Yesterday’s clash claimed thirty lives of the terrorists,

The nation’s acclaim to our valiant forces!”


The dashing lady appearing in the TV

uttered with her rosy lips in great rejoicing.


Besides the efflorescence of

high sounding crackers,

whom did they kill?

over whom did they win?



they all are humans,

having the same blood and flesh

What is it that separates terrorists from humans?


Once the opposites go down

the others organize a party

with the glamour of dancing

Not having even the least thought

that the others are not beasts

but humans they too are,

their own brothers,

though provoked

Can you burst into jollity

as your brothers remain flotsams in a blood sea?

What an astonishment?


Merry making in the

celebration of fratricide

The fashionable pleasures of our days!