Where I come from,

The trees are sculpted jade

The sky bears a stolen shade of robin’s egg

The air is as humid as a troll’s armpit

And the earth, richer than a king

Its jewels vine and shrub.

The men are dark

The women are but fair

But surely ’tis the color of a raven’s wing

That adorns their flowing tresses.

And are those not tea-leaves

That wreath the hills far and wide?

Farmer, fisherman, doctor, lawyer

We are but one

And that is Sri Lankan.