Children are children

Children poor Children rich
Belong to the same hitch
The rich grow in prosperity
The poor in adversity

One enjoys rich food
The other whatever be binds
But, both have likes and dislikes
That are similar to each other

To watch children is a delight
To see them run cry and fight
In spite of their difference in society
Possess the same similarity

Rinoza

Memories

Among the memories dwell I helpless
Haunted tired and weary
Day in and day out behind me they chase
Like hounds wild and wicked

Sun up and sun down they stand at my doors
At the ingress and the exit, disguised.
Murmur secrets to my deaf ears
And feel the beat the poor heart renders

Heavenly lights in the celestial plain
Nature's joys of the valleys and terrain
Innocence of the days gone by
Memories talk with myriad tongues

With the head rest on my chest
Fingers running through thy hair soft and smooth
Secrets unfold with sincere sanity
They chase me like hounds, wild and wicked.

The pleasures and joys of life together
The sorrows and pains of leave and departure
The pleasant and bitter the dreams similar
Never miss my memories, the ferocious foes

R. H. M. Piyasena

An observation

He is not a son of Zeus
But has a divine appearance
He is not from a prestigious clan of Romans
But has the dogged perseverance
He did not have the strategic genius of Alexander, the great
But could shock the whole world
It was Chinthaka Vidanage
An imperialist in his physical skills

Hasini Weragama

The majestic calmness

The incredible ocean of peace within me,
The infinite calmness and tranquillity,
The majestic realm of eternal stillness.
Experience it and it is a home for me
Through troubles and calamities,
The infinite calmness,
Peace and tranquillity,
Saves me from troubles;

S. R. Vevekananthan

The Weed

When I weed my garden,
Occasionally,
I ask myself,
A simple yet confusing question,
Just as I weed my garden,
So can't weed my life?
Can't I cut off,
This week-like relationship,
Sapping my precious energy?

I pluck the weeds,
Off the ground,
Without leaving the roots,
Under the soil,
And the garden becomes cleaner and better,
Once again

Now I ask myself,
Won't my life become more beautiful,
Like the weeded garden,
If I remove this gigantic weed,
From my life?

Jayashantha Jayawardhana

To a soldier brave

Shed a tear - for a life sacrificed - to save you and me
Let's remember - the courageous soldier - a true patriot he be.
Let's in our hearts - erect a monument - that's everlasting
Which ever speaks - of one no more - but yet living

Regardless of life - he fought for us - on the frontline
With a brave heart - of a soldier true - for this land of mine.
His name is ever engraved - in every heart - for generations to come
We all salute - that valiant soldier - a glorious son.

L.E.C. Salgado

I would like to be

If I'm to be the moon,
I would like to shine
Where the darkness entombed
Chasing away the darkness.
I spill my rays on waters
Making the world beautiful.

If I'm to be a river,
I would like to be
One that sparkles in blue
Conceiving precious stones.
I flow through the lands
Quenching the thirst.
I flow through the fields
Making the soil so rich.

If I'm to be the wind,
I would like to blow
Across the fields and flowers.
I wipe off all the tears,
Kissing the faces of the sad.

Ivan Kiriella

Ayesha, Lakshmie, Diana and You

You are 'Ayesha' the everlasting queen or Rider Hagard's 'She'
Or the mysterious and charming lady of W.A. Silva's 'Lakshmie'
Princess Diana and you look much alike as I always did see
A poet is born as a result of the divine beauty possessed by ye

The decay that comes with death can be overcome by some power
Of a poem wherein his sweetheart's beauty is averred by her lover
Your body and beauty are an artist's creation that'll never sever
The awesome fragrance you now possess will remain with you forever

Imprisoned in my heart is my love as a lion confined to his cave
Poets and lions are in the same creed who do not rave or crave
Hearing of my demise, I hope and wish that you would be brave
To be present in the churchyard and light a candle on my grave

S. Raymond Silva

A Forest consumed by drought

The forest gripped by a merciless drought
Faded day by day its natural beauty,
Vainly struggled life to survive the onslaught
But the jungle mauled by the monster of drought.
Fields and foliage withered and brown,
Trees like skeletons sans the boughs of green crown;
Garbed in the ghastly robe of death, the forest
Where not a leaf rustled, not a flower bloomed not a bud blossomed
Only the wind blustered away raising billows of brown dust;
Mother earth stubbornly banished growth
And consigned 'the kingdom of life' to sleep in the bowels of the forest
When the monster throttled the hapless forest
Vanished the beautiful rhythm of life pattern
And brought the concomitant evil - the annihilation of life;
Exposed cracked beds, the familiar water spots as dry as bones.
Rambled the animals to and fro frantically,
But not a drop in the jungle wide to slake their thirst.
So dropped dead they and decayed in the dying forest.
And could not fly the frazzled birds but flapped their fragile wings,
Squealed in pain and then lay motionless.
Defiantly, a lingering death stalked the land
And the voice of the jungle paralysed into silence;
Bellowing, chattering, trumpeting, howling-there was none
For not a monkey leapt, not a bull browsed and not a wolf preyed;
Melodious chirps of the feathered ones visibly absent
For not a bird perched on a branch, nor built a nest, nor sought a worm.
The jungle folks-herdsmen, hunters and tillers
Wrapped in misery, reduced to walking skeletons,
Ran helter-skelter, famished they are, in quest of water
But owns not a driblet of water, the sunken lakes;
So the doomed folks in anguish wept
For death and destruction was their determined lot.
Day by day, 'life and resource' sacrificed at the altar of drought
Which willy-nilly reduced the forest to naked brown earth.

A. F. Dawood

Dear Father wish you were here today-everyday

I was sitting and listening to,
How lawyers debate,
How much my father's life worth.
Counting his salary, his life expectancy,
I felt like I couldn't breathe,
Had to fight hard to stop tears popping out of my eyes,
My mind ran through the 21 years of my
life with him.
He was our best friend,
Our entertainer,
His never ending jokes made us laugh always,
Some were too dry that made us laugh too,
We saw the sunny side of life through him.
The smile on his face never faded, even
through hard times,
His good spirit was contageous,
It kept us going.
His huge heart gave us warmth,
His kindness to all made him a good friend.
With him, part of me died,
How tragic it is that I have to
Listen to them trying to give him
a fair value,
How could they,
To a father like him,
How could they value how much a
Father worth anyway.

Lalitha Manawasinghe