The howling winds
and gushing waters
of Ditwah’s wrath
ripped through
old familiar haunts
A childhood
almost swept away
by unforgiving rains
places, people
sliding
without remorse
Tea bushes
once disciplined in rows
hugging misty hills
came undone
roots loosened
like us
Hundreds displaced
thousands dead
it almost felt like
closure
Badulla, Ramboda,
Nuwara Eliya, Kandy
names that raised me
rolling in like warnings
suddenly unfamiliar
Nature reminding us
nothing is permanent
not land
not life
not people
Even the tea
that shaped the hills
could not hold them together
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