A tribute

The greenish waters were always calm
The other side of the bank always looked brighter
The waters got greener by the day
But he remained the same
Our shadows longer in the mornings - shorter in the afternoons
As I held onto his hand on the way to pre-school

The calmness of his presence, the comfort of his shoulder
On which my small head rested
When my feet could take no more he carried me
Round that lake we went for half a decade
And along the rail track leading to my lane

Two very different people - in mind, age and structure
Yet bonded by blood - belonging to the same family tree
Me seventy or so years younger
I was his treasure - centre of his attention
I grew so used to it - perhaps too much
Then old age took its toll - he sank

Sixteen years of my life he was on this earth
His presence felt by all around
Death struck this kind hearted man
My grandfather's soul was released
Immortality is possessed by none
But in my heart he shall live forever
Until death comes upon me

Hiruni Weerasekera

The change

The day, you came to my world
Uncountable flowers bloomed
around me.
Thousands of rainbows
emerged from all directions
The surrounding air was
filled with fragrance of
hope, satisfaction and success!
yet,
Today,
Those flowers have gone,
Leaving only thorns,
No more rainbows,
Ugly dask clouds all over
There is a filthy smell
of frustration, sorrow
and failure.

Rajendra Jayasundera Bandara

To a smoker

In a crowded train, you are the bane
of all peace-loving creatures;
You puff with bliss, no fool can miss
The smugness in your features;
With rings of smoke, you almost choke
Your poor and hapless neighbour
Please spare a thought, with kindness fraught
To ease his toil, his labour.
Oft in a trice, with dreamy eyes
You light your fag so careless
While those around without a sound
Can only suffer speechless
Why can't you see, don't you agree
That it's a serious offence?
Perhaps your'e blind or out of mind
Or don't you care a tuppence?

With lethal puff, your lungs you stuff,
You're just being suicidal;
You give your wife a shorter life
That makes you homicidal!
I can't see why you cannot try
To kick this deadly habit;
Or else my friend, you'll reach your end
Much sooner than you know it!

If smoke you must, I think it's just
To choose the open spaces,
But railway bus or omnibus
They're not the best of places;
I'll raise at best a hornets' nest
But smoker, please be wary,
See what you've done, it isn't fun
You've burnt a hole in my saree......!

Sheila Gunasekera

The urge

Babies cry
Birds fly
So high
In the sky
People vie
All why
No lie
Natural urge
To forge
And surge
With courage
As leverage
To succeed
And proceed
To fulfil
The need.
If no urge
No thrill
No trill
All stand still
Sans urge
None to forge
Nor to surge
Only the dirge.

N.M.L.M. Haleel

Sea's reversal

(Tsunami, 2004)

Withdrew the turbulent, fish-netted sea
To leave a sandy bed vast and free.
Lashed back the black wave and quickly drowned
The crowd baited there by fish on sandy ground

Patrick Jayasuriya

Silence

"One of the best ways of talking about peace is to talk of the consequences of war.":

It is the anger that we are dumb
and let our thoughts go into silence
making us coward when death is not our
own or that which belongs to those we love,
leaving us voiceless.

we cannot exhaust, the metaphors,
we cannot say they're stale, all stale,
withhold the words that would express
our deepest horror or screen from our vision
all those eyes crowding before us, witnesses of
fear, at that penultimate moment when the mines
go off or the bombs blast the innocent terrain,
only to retreat, cowering in the shadows.
Deep chasm separate us,
we cannot circumvent the deep dug bunkers
those clay pits of death,
nor can we pour quicklime over memory
or shroud with burning flames, the dead

Why are old curs like myself still left
to cringe and whimper, treading the ash-heap
of the avengers, their thirst so quickly quenched
after the quarry's hunted down

The torch-blaze so swiftly put out
the smoke, a heavy pall, spreads over
the sleeping bones of fire-eaten flesh

Jean Arasanayagam

Portrait of glow

Fantasy leaps to life
in a swirl of confetti
making magic in the air
Explosions of paper streamers
ignite faith and hope
Green buds break up
on trees that looked so wild.
With a grace of a dancer
the fish dive for food.
Scenes came flooding,
places like Persian carpet
red, yellow purple wild flowers
mingling with the green grass
Like a painting stirred
to life by the wind
Simplest wild flowers dancing
in the field
Babble of the babblers
throbbing with the joy of life
A time of hope and
better tomorrow
As much as it gives
to sight-seers
Our country
reserves its sweetest part
to those who call it their home
The extra-ordinary human beings
The golden touch
of the originals and intellects
matter immaculate
Glowing candles.
Looking back,
to step on something
written or painted
Was forbidden
Sacred it was considered
In the darkest of the dark
Within the splash and spattering of hate
A candle spreads
a lot of light

Devi Singam

Life's ofs and ifs

Of what use is a flower
If it has lost its beauty?
Of what use is a man
If his heart is impure?

Of what use is a pen
If it has no ink?
Of what use is a hen
If it does not lay eggs?

Of what use is a brain
If it does not think?
Of what use is a hand
If it does not work?

Of what use is a leg
If it cannot walk?
Of What use is a tongue
If it cannot talk?

Of what use is talent
If it is not utilised?
Of what use is work
If it is not accomplished?

Of what use is food
If it is not digested?
Of what use is energy
If it is not consumed?

Of what use is education
If we do not become wise and noble?
Of what use is character?
If we are not good and righteous?

Of what use is faith
If we do not believe
That, there is a God
Up there in heaven?

C. Mohanlal de Mel

The old woman

They stand in line staring into obscurity
Their once happy faces contorted with pain
Waiting for their children who'll never come
Memories rush through their minds!

The love they gave selflessly - but with no return
Sad yet true - Do they deserve such a fate?
Her little son so vulnerable
Depending on her to guide him
Her thoughts go back.

Infant sucking hungrily at her breast
While she gently plays with his curly mop
Her little toddler wobbling around unsteadily
Depending on her to steady him and guide him

Her face lights up with pride
Then in adolescence she can picture him sitting by her
Promising to look after her in the autumn years!
Her old lips quiver - the tears fall silently
Soaking her wrinkled hand.

Don't you remember me my son....?
Or have you abandoned me.....?
To live the rest of my life
Confined within these walls !

Dr. Tilak S. Fernando