The August pageant

The autumn leaves have fallen
Making greenary to incipient decay
The city streets are well coverd
Where many trees stand along its way
The 'Randolawa' is all spruced up
Made clean and painted afresh
To take along the pageant roots
As Randoli so the ancient name rest
The peasant of the city carry
On shoulders the Randoli rest
Along the streets at night they take
So the viewers throw money to its safe
All those seated beside the road
They stand in respect as it passes by
'Randoli' the most important
Is the striking feature of the pageant gone by
Many crowds, admirers and devotees
They follow this palanquin along
Where during ancient times it remained
For palace royals and nobleman to travel along
The Randolawa is still carried
Annually as the pageant travels the streets
When the autumn leaves have fallen
As a carpet on which Randoli is taken entreat

Miran Perera

****

Birthday rose

As her gentle eyes
Searched the colours of dawn
A smiling red rose
For her golden birthday
Presented itself
On the plant
By her window
Barren for so long

The birthday rose
She always longed for
And never came
For she had none
To see her beauty but Mon
Who always said,
"There's someone
Who sees the beauty in you"

Now she knew for sure
There's someone for her
Someone
She couldn't see and touch
But only feel in her heart
One adorned
The barren plant
On her golden birthday.

P. M. Fernando

****

The Anvil

The sledge forges and forges
A hot glowing iron,
Keeping on the anvil's shoulders
The anvil is far heavier
And stronger than the sledge;
Yet, powerless under the powerful sledge.
When one sledge wears out,
Another sledge takes over
The beating and forging the anvil.
Though the same iron does
not get beaten everyday.
It's the same anvil that bears
The burden of the sledge day by day.

Ivan Kiriella

****

Midsummer

Among the withered leaves
Floating downhill
On a mountain path
In the evening summer breeze
There rolled a fruit mellow
From a tree nearly
Wafting a smell sweet

Birds in nests brooding
Squirrels fast asleep,
Too early for bats to shake slumber
They knew not of the fruit sweet
Who rally round for luscious flesh
Caring less for the fragrance alone

You picked up the fruit and carried it
With the wild flowers you gathered
And the incense sweet

An offering for a goddess unknown
On a forlorn shrine at the foothill

Yes, Divinity's food
Smells sweet
So, is it not an offering
the sweet fragrance of friendship.

Malani Govinnage

****

The Angry Sea

Invaded,
Taking
Without choice,
The rich
The poor
The good
And the bad,
Knowing well
These artificial
Distinctions
Are made by man
For his narrow
Ends.

It now
Remains clam,
Like a
Big cat
Having hunted
And taken her fill

I swim in her,
And while floating
In her calmness,
I look
Upwards at a blue
Emptiness
An endless expanse
Of beauty

The trembling earth
Underneath,
Makes one wonder?
What tomorrow will bring?

Prof. Arjuna de Zoysa

****

The solitary flower

Yes ! It was a solitary flower
Growing on a hillock amongst thorns and prickly briar.
Where nobody ever glanced, no attraction did it have to any, no not even to a lover.
In hue, it was drab so one thought it to be
Its long stem upright and appeared bold as one could see.
Happily dancing and swaying with the breeze this solitary flower.
Growing amongst the briars with determination and valour.
We mortals, a lesson could take from this flower,
One knows how appearance, caste, creed and
Clan are just names we tag on and claim.
For them, pride unknown, hold you head high and be true unto thyself.
Be cheerful and happy and face obstacles yourself
Take a note of this solitary flower,
that came up the hard way, on a hillock far far away,
You'll sure win the day !

Ranjinie Chandraratne

****

Destructive force

What plight of soul can bear analysis
Then learn we this is that and that is this;
And yet, a ruthless truth we keep alive
A force the universe does blithely drive -
An omnipresent omnipotent flame.

Such fire dances in the eyes of god
From Time's beginning when on Eden's sod;
And now we stare upon this rigid face
That is the shadow of all time and space
And lay upon our altars blame and shame.

I see the true face of the deity
An archetypal fraud! Is piety
The ritual decreed that we must kill
And killing so, this divine need fulfil:
Bloodied rivers, bloodied ocean mane.

In rituals of blood did gods declare
Their real worth - this legacy we bear
From times Hebraic, blood we freely shed
And daubed the Earth with sacrifices red -
Human slaughter! Glory be thy name!

We the hunters, history steeped in gore,
Huntsmanship the means to fill our store
Of food - the club, the flint, and now the gun,
The nuclear havoc; this the course we run -
The killing fields, this ever-human game.

Mimesis of past enflames and kill we must!
Or else consign our gods to aged dust;
We sacrificed the bull that Zeus may reign
That we, the killers, grace of gods could gain
At Aztec alters, now Kosovo's plain.

Is this the way primordial that we take
Our human lives, our very souls to make?
Has ancient Rome and Palestine returned
And everywhere the flesh in bubbles burned?
And these our melodies of human fame!

Such games are these of constant pitch and toss
And now we nail each other on the cross!

Carl Muller

****

The road-crossing

I spurred the car, spurred and spurred,
Rm rm rm, it whirred
At last it purred, belched its smoke
Weakend's end it spoke,
As though to bruit the start of work,
Like a siren, calling to report.

Along the lane slowly it glides
To approach the main road, ahead it lies
The car is purring with life
The driver agitated with strife.
To cross and reach the city that blooms
Where life booms and dangers loom.

I face the trial of crossing the road
Which is not governed by any code
No cop to police, nor colour-lights to direct
No discipline or tolerance to collect and correct
Might is right, right means might
Jungle law - the survival of the fittest
That savage law has invaded the land
In this rat race, the casualty is the man.

I keep my foot on the accelerator peddle
Deftly balancing the movements of the throttle
Two lanes of traffic, outward bound
Speeding, booming, belching sound
To find an opening, hawklike I wait
Watching for a gap to cross straight.

A slow car comes, at a distance fair
I can cross, an opportunity rare
The driver gauges what I would dare
Heightens his speed and raced with a blare.

While I wait yet awhile
For another luck to speed and ply
I see a gap sufficiently wide
Enough to cross; I need not bide.
A motorcyclist booms, just in front
On the wrong side, from left to right.
I jammed breaks to avert a crash
The cyclist was saved from his act brash.
He frowned, as if I were to blame
My heart seethed in flames.

We just linger, though in a hurry
Purring with anger, fuming with fury.
There comes a man, pushing his bicycle
Blocking our path, like fate re-cycled
He moved slowly, unconcerned and cool
Heedless of my plight, bloody fool.

I exercise restraint, bridle my haste
Till a gap opens complacently wait
Now an old man, lame and frail
Bar my march; once again I fail.
My perturbed face he greets
With a gesture of apology so sweet.
I vex no more, exuding heat
In the driver's seat.
"No chance opening," the truth I face.
Be a rat, to win the rat race.
Act the beast, where jungle laws prevail.
Over archaic morals, useless to bewail.
Find a plan, if you have a brain.
"Yes I will; its simple and plain."

There are no rewards for the cowards,
Inch forward, and inch forward.
First lane I gained by this daring feat,
To gain the next, should I my life forfeit?
At high speed they come and zoom away
First lane's traffic is stilled and choked the way
Vehicles formed a queue long
Drivers storm, toot horns
As musicians from a devils' land
Sans a director, playing their band.

Acrimony soars,
Angry words flow
What an evil !
Who is the devil ?
They all cavil.
Double B .....
Son of a B ....
Hail those honours
In a riling spree.

Some smart guy's ingenuity ran riot
To beat his fellows, moved to the right.
The next car came at break neck haste,
Scraped the beater's his stratagem lay waste.
Both cars stopped, blocked each lane
The drivers are down, in arguments inane
Flail their hands, hurl their curses
Rancour over trifling laches
For a little coat of paint
And a brittle mettle sheet.

My path was clear, the passage I gained
Some drivers opined to cast me in blame
The might of law glows, as brightly as an ass
My right goes right up to your nose
As there's no contact with your nose, I should ask
To acquit me with honour and let me pass.

T.M.S. Nanayakkara